GIFT  or 
John  H  Mee 


^ 


CJ^^t 


^A 


THE   COMEDY  OF  HUMAN  LIFE 
By  H.  DE  BALZAC 


SCENES   FROM   PRIVATE  LIFE 


MEMOIRS  OF 
TWO  YOUNG  MARRIED  WOMEN 


BALZAC'S     NOVELS. 

Translated  by  Miss  K.  P.  Wormeley. 


Already  Published: 
PERE     GORIOT. 
DUCHESSE     DE     LANGEAIS. 
RISE  AND  FALL  OF  CESAR  BIROTTEAU. 
EUGENIE     GRANDET. 
COUSIN     PONS. 
THE     COUNTRY     DOCTOR. 
THE     TWO     BROTHERS. 
THE    ALKAHEST. 
MODESTE     MIGNON. 
THE  MAGIC   SKIN  (Peau  de  Chagrin). 
COUSIN     BETTE. 
LOUIS     LAMBERT. 
BUREAUCRACY  (Les  Employes). 
SERAPHITA. 
SONS    OP    THE    SOIL. 
FAME    AND    SORROW. 
THE   LILY   OP   THE    VALLEY. 
URSULA. 

AN   HISTORICAL   MYSTERY. 
ALBERT    SAVARUS. 
BALZAC  :    A  MEMOIR. 
PIERRETTE. 
THE    CHOUANS. 
LOST    ILLUSIONS. 
A  GREAT  MAN  OP   THE   PROVINCES  IN 

PARIS. 
THE  BROTHERHOOD  OP  CONSOLATION. 
THE    VILLAGE    RECTOR. 
MEMOIRS    OP    TWO     YOUNG    MARRIED 

WOMEN.  ^ 

ROBERTS    BROTHERS,    Publishers, 
BOSTON. 


HONORE    DE    BALZAC 

TRANSLATED    BY 

KATHARINE    PRESCOTT    WORMELEY 


Memoirs  of  Two  Young 
Married  Women* 


ROBERTS     BROTHERS 

3     SOMERSET     STREET 

BOSTON 

1894 


GIFT  OF 


Copyright,  189^, 
By  Roberts  Brothers. 


All  rights  reserved. 


5Ettt6ersita  i«as: 
John  Wilson  and  Son,  Cambridge,  U.S.A. 


TO  GEORGE   SAND. 

This  dedication,  dear  George,  can  add  nothing  to  the  glory 
of  your  name,  which  will  cast  its  magic  lustre  on  my  book; 
but  in  making  it  there  is  neither  modesty  nor  self-interest  on 
my  part.  I  desire  to  bear  testimony  to  the  true  friendship 
between  us;  which  continues  unchanged  in  spite  of  travels 
and  absence,  —  in  spite,  too,  of  our  mutual  hard  work  and 
the  maliciousness  of  the  world.  This  feeling  will  doubtless 
never  change.  The  procession  of  friendly  names  which  accom- 
pany my  books  mingle  pleasure  with  the  pain  and  toil  their 
great  number  causes  me;  for  they  are  not  written  without  pain 
and  difficulty,  to  say  nothing  of  the  reproach  now  cast  upon 
me  for  what  is  called  my  alarming  fecundity,  —  as  if  the  world 
which  poses  before  me  were  not  more  fecund  still !  Would 
it  not  be  a  fine  thing,  George,  if  some  antiquary  of  long  past 
literatures  should  find  in  that  procession  none  but  noble 
names,  true  hearts,  pure  and  sacred  friendships, —  the  glories 
of  this  century?  Ought  I  not  to  show  myself  prouder  of 
that  great  and  certain  happiness  than  of  other  successes 
which  are  not  indisputable?  To  one  who  knows  you  well  it 
must  ever  be  a  great  happiness  to  be  allowed  to  call  himself, 
as  I  do  here. 

Your  friend, 

De  Balzac. 


796265 


CONTENTS. 


FIRST    PART. 

Letters  Page 

I.    Louise  de  Chaulieu  to  Renee  de  Maucombe      .  1 

II.     Same  to  Same 19 

III.  Same  to  Same 27 

IV.  Same  to  Same 33 

V.     Renee  de  Maucombe  to  Louise  de  Chaulieu     .  38 

VI.     Don  Felipe  Henarez  to  Don  Fernando  ...  46 

VTI.     Louise  de  Chaulieu  to  Renee  de  Maucombe     ,  54 

VIII.     Same  to  Same 63 

IX.     Madame  la  Vicomtesse  de  I'Estorade  to  Made- 
moiselle de  Chaulieu 67 

X.     Mademoiselle  de  Chaulieu  to  Madame  de  I'Es- 
torade   69 

XI.     Madame   de  I'Estorade    to   Mademoiselle   de 

Chaulieu 73 

XII.    Mademoiselle  de  Chaulieu  to  Madame  de  I'Es- 
torade   74 

XIII.  Madame    de   I'Estorade  to  Mademoiselle   de 

Chaulieu 90 

XIV.  The  Due  de  Soria  to  the  Baron  de  Macumer  102 
XV.     Louise  de  Chaulieu  to  Madame  de  I'Estorade   .  104 

XVL     Same  to  Same 115 

XVII.     Same  to  Same 118 

XVIII.     Madame  de  I'Estorade  to  Louise  de  Chaulieu  120 


vi  Contents. 

Letters  Page 

XIX.     Louise   de  Chaulieu  to  Madame  de  I'Es- 

torade 125 

XX.     Madame  de  I'Estorade  to  Louise  de  Chau- 
lieu     132 

XXI.     Louise  de  Chaulieu  to  Madame  de  I'Estorade  135 

XXII.     Louise  to  Felipe 143 

XXIII.  Felipe  to  Louise 148 

XXIV.  Louise  de  Chaulieu  to  Madame  de  I'Esto- 

rade     152 

XXV.     Madame  de  I'Estorade  to  Louise  de  Chaulieu     161 
XXVI.     The  Baronne  de  Macumer  to  Madame  de 

I'Estorade 164 

XXVII.     Madame  de  Macumer  to  Madame  de  I'Es- 
torade       171 

XXVIII.     Madame  de  I'Estorade  to  Madame  de  Ma- 
cumer       177 

XXIX.     Monsieur  de  I'Estorade  to  Madame  de  Ma- 
cumer       182 

XXX.     Madame  de  Macumer  to  Madame  de  I'Es- 
torade       185 

XXXI.     Madame  de  I'Estorade  to  Madame  de  Ma- 
cumer       188 

XXXII.     Madame  de  Macumer  to  Madame  de  I'Es- 
torade       198 

XXXIII.  Madame  de  TEstorade  to  Madame  de  Ma- 

cumer       203 

XXXIV.  Madame  de  Macumer  to  the  Vicomtesse 

de  I'Estorade 204 

XXXV.     Madame  de  Macumer  to  Madame  de  I'Es- 
torade       205 

XXXVI.     Madame  de  I'Estorade  to  Madame  de  Ma- 
cumer           .....     208 

XXXVII.     Madame  de  Macumer  to  Madame  de  I'Es- 
torade       216 

XXXVIII.     Madame  de  I'Estorade  to  Madame  de  Ma- 
cumer  217 


Contents.  vii 

Letters  Page 

XXXIX.     Madame  de  Macumer  to  Madame  de  I'Es- 

torade 219 

XL.     The  Comtesse  de  I'Estorade  to  Madame  de 

Macumer 221 

XLI.     Madame  de  Macumer  to  Madame  de  I'Es- 
torade       228 

XLII.     Madame  de  I'Estorade  to  Madame  de  Ma- 
cumer       231 

XLIII.     Madame  de  Macumer  to  Madame  de  I'Es- 
torade       233 

XLIV.     Same  to  Same 235 

XLV.     Madame  de  I'Estorade  to  Madame  de  Ma- 
cumer       236 

XL VI.     Madame  de  Macumer  to  Madame  de  I'Es- 
torade       247 

XL  VII.     Madame  de  I'Estorade  to  Madame  de  Ma- 
cumer  252 


SECOND    PART. 


XLVIII.     Madame  de  Macumer  to  Madame  de  I'Es- 
torade           ......  255 

XLIX.     M.  Marie  Gaston  to  M.  Daniel  d'Arthez  .  270 

L.     Madame  de  I'Estorade  to  Madame  Gaston  273 

LI.     Madame  de  I'Estorade  to  Madame  Gaston  275 

LII.     Madame  Gaston  to  Madame  de  I'Estorade  283 

LIII.     Madame  de  I'Estorade  to  Madame  Gaston  293 

LIV.     Madame  Gaston  to  Madame  de  I'Estorade  298 

LV.     Madame  de  I'Estorade  to  Madame  Gaston  313 

LVI.     Madame  Gaston  to  Madame  de  I'Estorade  317 

LVII.     The  Comtesse  de  I'Estorade  to  the  Comte 

de  I'Estorade 318 


MEMOIES 


OF 


TWO    YOUNG    MARRIED  WOMEN. 


FIRST    PART. 
I. 

LOUISE   DE    CHAULIEU   TO   REN:6e    DE    MAUCOMBE. 

Paris,  September. 

My  dear  darling,  —  I  am  out  of  school,  too  !  and 
as  you  did  not  write  me  at  Blois,  it  is  for  me  to  begin 
our  charming  correspondence.  But  there  is  nothing 
in  this  letter  to  make  3'our  beautiful  black  eyes  sparkle  ; 
keep  your  exclamations  for  the  one  in  which  I  shall 
Confide  to  you  my  first  love.  People  always  talk  of  a 
first  love;  can  there  be  a  second?  "Hush!"  I  hear 
you  say ;  "  instead  of  that,  tell  me  how  it  is  30U  have 
left  the  convent,  where,  when  we  parted,  you  expected 
to  profess." 

My  dear,  though  the  miracle  of  my  deliverance  did 
happen  at  the  Carmelites,  it  was  really  the  most  natural 

1 


1^       Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women. 

thing  in  the  world.  The  qualms  of  a  frightened  con- 
science carried  the  day  over  the  commands  of  inflexible 
family  policy,  that 's  all.  M}"  aunt,  who  did  not  wish 
to  see  me  die  of  consumption,  conquered  my  mother, 
who  had  so  long  prescribed  the  novitiate  as  the  onlj^ 
cure  for  that  malady.  The  black  melancholy  which 
took  possession  of  me  after  you  left  the  convent  hastened 
this  happy  escape. 

So,  here  I  am  in  Paris,  my  angel ;  and  I  owe  to  you 
the  happiness  of  being  here.  My  Renee,  if  you  could 
but  have  seen  me  the  first  day  I  had  to  live  without 
you,  you  would  certainly  feel  proud  to  have  inspired 
such  deep  sentiments  in  your  friend's  heart.  "We  have 
so  long  dreamed  together,  we  have  spread  our  wings 
and  imagined  life  so  often,  that  our  souls  seem  welded 
together,  like  those  of  the  Hungarian  sisters ;  you 
remember  that  story  told  us  by  Monsieur  Beauvisage? 
—  who  certainl}'  was  not  the  man  of  his  name !  Was 
ever  a  convent  doctor  better  chosen  ? 

Have  you  been  ill,  my  treasure,  in  order  to  keep  your 
dear  one  company  ?  In  the  dark  depression  our  part- 
ing caused  me  I  recognized,  more  than  ever,  the  ties 
that  unite  us.  I  thought  them  severed  by  separation ; 
I  was  seized  with  disgust  for  life,  like  some  poor,  lonely 
turtle-dove  ;  I  felt  how  sweet  it  would  be  to  die,  and 
I  was  dying,  softly.  To  be  alone  in  the  Carmelite 
convent,  a  prey  to  the  dread  of  having  to  profess  with- 


Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women.       3 

out  tasting  life  like  Mademoiselle  de  la  Valliere,  and 
without  my  Renee !  oh,  it  was  illness,  mortal  illness  ! 
That  monotonous  life  —  ever}'  hour  bringing  a  dut}' ,  a 
prayer,  a  toil,  all  so  precisely  alike  that  one  knows  at 
any  moment  exactly  what  a  Carmelite  sister  is  doing 
the  world  over  —  that  horrible  life  in  which  one  grows 
indifferent  as  to  whether  the  things  about  us  are  or  are 
?zo^,  had  become  for  you  and  me  a  varied  world ;  our 
minds  had  no  trammels,  fancy  bestowed  upon  us  the 
ke}^  of  her  kingdoms.  We  were  charming  hippogriffs, 
mounting  each  other  in  turn,  the  lively  one  waking  up 
the  sleepy  one,  till  our  spirits  frolicked  together  in  the 
unknown,  forbidden  world.  Even  that  dreary  book,  the 
"  Lives  of  the  Saints  "  helped  us  to  understand  many 
hidden  things.  But  the  day  your  dear  company  was 
torn  away  from  me  I  became  a  Carmelite  indeed,  —  that 
is,  a  modern  Danaide,  who,  instead  of  trying  to  fill  a 
vessel  full  of  holes,  draws  every  day  from  some  deep 
well  an  empty  bucket,  hoping  to  find  it  full.  My  aunt 
was  totally  ignorant  of  our  inward  life.  She  could  not 
understand  my  disgust  for  existence  ;  she  believed  the  ' 
two  acres  of  her  convent  ground  a  celestial  paradise. 
The  life  of  a  nun,  my  darling,  cannot  be  accepted  at 
our  age  by  an}'  girl  unless  she  has  more  simplicity  of 
nature  than  belongs  to  you  or  me,  or  else  that  ardor  of 
devotion  which  makes  my  aunt  so  sublime  a  creature. 
My  aunt  sacrificed  herself  to  a  beloved  brother ;  but 


4       Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women. 

how  can  any  one  sacrifice  herself  to  unknown  beings 
and  ideas  ? 

For  the  last  two  weeks  I  have  buried  so  many  wild 
meditations  and  speeches  in  my  heart,  I  have  had  so 
many  thoughts  and  experiences  to  tell  that  could  only 
be  told  to  you,  that  I  truly  think  I  should  choke  to 
death  were  it  not  for  these  written  confidences  which 
are  now  to  take  the  place  of  our  precious  talks.  Ah ! 
how  necessary  the  life  of  the  heart  is  to  us  !  I  begin 
my  journal  this  morning,  imagining  that  yours  is  begin- 
ning for  me  at  the  same  time,  and  that  I  shall  before 
long  live  in  your  beautiful  valley  of  Gemenos,  of  which 
I  know  nothing  except  what  you  have  told  me,  just  as 
you  are  going  to  live  in  Paris,  of  which  3'ou  know  noth- 
ing except  what  we  have  dreamed  together  and  what  I 
am  going  to  tell  3'ou. 

So,  my  dearest,  on  a  beautiful  morning  marked  with 
a  rose-colored  letter  in  my  book  of  life,  there  arrived 
from  Paris  my  mother's  dame  de  compagnie  and  Philippe, 
my  grandmother's  footman,  sent  to  take  me  home. 
When  my  aunt  summoned  me  to  her  room,  and  told  me 
this  news  I  was  speechless  with  joy ;  I  looked  at  her 
stupidly. 

"My  child,"  she  said,  in  her  guttural  tones,  "you 
leave  me  without  regret,  I  see  that ;  but  this  is  not  a 
final  farewell ;  we  shall  see  you  here  again.  God  has 
marked  j^our  brow  with  the  sign  of  his  elect ;  you  have 


Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women,       5 

the  pride  that  leads  to  heaven  or  hell,  but  3'ou  have 
also  too  much  nobility  of  soul  to  fall  to  hell.  I  know 
3'ou  better  than  you  know  yourself.  Passion  will  never 
be  in  you  what  it  is  in  ordinary  women." 

She  drew  me  gently  to  her,  and  kissed  me  on  the 
forehead  with  that  fire  which  consumes  her,  which  black- 
ens the  azure  of  her  e3'es,  droops  her  eyelids,  furrows  her 
ivory  forehead,  and  discolors  her  lovely  face.  She  made 
my  flesh  creep.    Before  repljing,  I  kissed  her  hands. 

"Dear  aunt,"  I  said,  "  if  3'our  adorable  kindness 
has  not  made  your  Paraclete  healthy  to  my  body"  or 
sweet  to  my  soul,  I  shall  have  to  weep  so  man^'^  tears 
to  force  me  back  that  I  feel  sure  3'ou  will  neither  hope 
nor  pray  for  my  return.  I  shall  never  return,  unless 
betrayed  by  m3"  king  —  if  I  meet  with  one ;  and  if  I 
do,  death  alone  can  tear  him  from  me ;  I  fear  no 
Montespan." 

"Silly  girl,"  she  said  smiling,  "don't  leave  those 
ideas  behind  3^ou  ;  carry  them  away  with  3'ou  ;  and  let 
me  tell  you  that  you  are  much  more  of  a  Montespan 
than  a  La  Valliere." 

I  kissed  her.  The  poor  woman  could  not  keep  from 
following  me  to  the  carriage,  where  her  e3^es  were  as 
much  fixed  on  the  famil3'^  armorial  bearings  as  on  me. 

Night  overtook  me  at  Beaugency,  still  plunged  in  a 
sort  of  moral  torpor  brought  on  by  this  singular  fare- 
well. What  was  I  really  about  to  find  in  this  world  so 
much  desired? 


6       Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women. 

In  the  first  place,  no  one  was  at  home  to  receive  me ; 
all  m}^  heart  preparations  were  wasted.  My  mother 
was  driving  in  the  Bois  de  Boulogne ;  my  father  was 
attending  a  council  of  ministers ;  m}-  brother,  the  Due 
de  Rhetore,  never  came  home,  they  told  me,  till  it  was 
time  to  dress  for  dinner.  Mademoiselle  Griffith  (good 
name,  she  certainly  has  claws)  and  Philippe  conducted 
me  to  my  apartment. 

This  apartment  is  the  one  that  used  to  belong  to  my 
grandmother,  the  Princesse  de  Vauremont,  who  left  me 
a  fortune  as  to  which  nobody  has  ever  said  a  word  to 
me.  You  will  understand  the  sadness  that  overcame 
me  on  entering  these  rooms  so  full  of  my  childish 
memories  of  that  dear  creature.  The  apartment  is  just 
as  she  left  it ;  I  was  to  sleep  in  the  bed  she  died  on. 
Sitting  on  the  edge  of  her  sofa,  I  wept  without  observ- 
ing that  I  was  not  alone ;  I  thought  only  of  how  often 
I  had  knelt  at  that  very  place  to  listen  to  her.  I  could 
see  her  face,  swathed  in  rare  old  lace,  and  shrunken 
with  the  sufferings  of  her  last  illness.  The  room 
seemed  to  me  still  warm  from  the  heated  temperature 
in  which  she  always  kept  it. 

Why  was  it  that  I,  Armande-Louise-Marie  de 
Chaulieu  was  obliged,  like  any  peasant  girl,  to  sleep  in 
the  bed  of  her  grandmother  almost  on  the  day  of  the 
latter's  death?  —  for  I  chose  to  fancy  that  the  princess, 
who  really  died  in  1817,  had  expired  the  night  before. 


Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women.       7 

The  room  contained  many  things  which  ought  not  to 
have  been  there  ;  which  proves  that  persons  who  are 
busy  with  state  affairs  do  not  attend  to  matters  in  their 
own  home  ;  and  it  also  proves  that  as  soon  as  the 
princess  was  dead  no  one  thought  any  longer  of  that 
noble  woman,  who  will  always  remain  one  of  the  grand 
female  figures  of  the  eighteenth  centur3\ 

Philippe,  her  footman,  seemed  to  understand,  in  a 
way,  why  I  wept.  He  told  me  that  the  princess  had 
bequeathed  to  me  all  her  furniture  and  other  belong- 
ings. My  father  had  left  the  grand  apartments  in  the 
condition  to  which  the  Revolution  had  reduced  them. 
Remembering  this,  I  rose  and  asked  Philippe  to  open  the 
door  of  the  little  salon  which  leads  to  the  reception-rooms, 
and  there  I  beheld  the  dilapidation  which  I  remembered 
of  old.  The  niches  above  the  doors,  which  once  con- 
tained fine  pictures,  were  still  empty,  the  marbles  broken 
the  mirrors  taken  away.  In  ni}'  childish  da3's  I  used 
to  be  afraid  to  go  up  the  grand  staircase  and  cross  the 
vast  solitude  of  these  high  rooms,  so  that  I  usuallj'  went 
to  the  princess's  apartments  b}'  the  little  staircase  which 
led  to  the  private  door  of  her  dressing-room. 

Her  apartment  (the  one  that  is  now  mine)  consisting 
of  a  salon,  one  bedchamber,  and  the  pretty  dressing- 
room  in  scarlet  and  gold  I  told  you  about,  is  in  the 
corner  tower  nearest  to  the  Invalides.  The  house  is 
separated  from  the  boulevard  bj^  a  wall  covered  with 


\ 


8       Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women, 

climbing  plants,  which  mingle  their  shoots  with  the  foli- 
age of  the  elms  on  the  roadwaj-.  If  it  were  not  for  the 
blue  and  gold  dome  and  the  gray  walls  of  the  Invalides, 
I  might  fanc}'  myself  living  in  a  forest.  The  style  of 
these  three  rooms  proves  them  to  be  the  former  state 
apartments  of  the  duchesses  de  Chaulieu ;  those  of  the 
dukes  must  have  been  in  the  tower  at  the  other  corner 
of  the  building,  separated  from  each  other  by  the  main 
body  of  the  house  and  the  middle  tower,  in  which  are 
those  vast,  gloom}^,  and  sonorous  salons  I  mentioned 
just  now,  shorn  of  all  their  splendor,  and  the  terror  of 
my  childhood. 

Philippe  put  on  a  very  confidential  air  on  seeing  my 
astonishment.  M}'  dear,  in  this  diplomatic  mansion 
even  the  servants  are  discreet  and  mysterious.  He 
told  me,  under  his  breath,  that  they  expected  to  pass  a 
law  by  which  the  emigres  would  recover  the  value  of 
their  lost  property.  My  father  is  therefore  postponing 
the  restoration  of  the  house  until  this  restitution  takes 
place.  The  king's  architect  estimates  the  cost  at  three 
hundred  thousand  francs.  This  confidential  communi- 
cation made  me  drop  upon  the  sofa  in  my  salon.  So  ! 
my  father,  instead  of  employing  that  sum  in  marrying 
me,  preferred  to  shut  me  up  in  a  convent !  That  was 
the  reflection  which  came  to  me  on  the  threshold  of  my 
home  life.  Ah !  Renee,  how  often  I  have  told  you, 
with  my  head  on  your  shoulder,  of   the   happy   days 


Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women.       9 

when  my  grandmother  occupied  these  rooms.  She 
exists  only  in  my  heart,  and  j'ou  are  at  Maucombe, 
five  hundred  miles  away  from  me,  —  the  onty  two 
beings  who  loved  or  have  ever  loved  me  !  That  dear 
old  woman  with  a  young  heart  always  waked  up  when 
she  heard  my  voice.  We  understood  each  other  so  well. 
That  recollection  suddenly  changed  all  my  first 
impressions.  I  felt  there  was  something  sacred  in 
what,  at  first,  had  seemed  to  me  like  profanation.  I 
even  thought  it  sweet  to  inhale  the  vague  perfume  of 
marechale  powder  which  lingers  here,  sweet  to  sleep 
under  these  curtains  of  gold-colored  damask  with 
white  figures,  where  her  eyes  and  her  breath  must  have 
left  something  of  her  dear  soul.  I  told  Philippe  to 
polish  and  restore  the  lustre  of  the  furniture  and  to 
make  the  whole  apartment  habitable.  I  arranged  the 
rooms  to  suit  myself,  giving  to  each  piece  of  furniture 
its  proper  place.  In  taking  possession  I  looked  care- 
fully over  everything  to  see  how  best  I  could  preserve 
these  precious  antiquities,  which  I  love.  Do  you 
want  to  know  what  the  rooms  are  like  ?  The  chamber 
is  all  in  white,  a  little  yellowed  by  time,  and  the  gold 
of  the  frolicking  arabesques  is  somewhat  tarnished 
from  the  same  cause  ;  but  these  efiects  are  in  harmony 
with  the  faded  colors  of  the  Savonnerie  carpet,  given 
to  my  grandmother  by  Louis  XV.,  who  also  gave  her 
his  portrait.     The  clock  on  the  chimne3'-piece  was  a 


10     Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women. 

present  from  the  Marechal  de  Saxe,  and  the  porcelain 
ornaments  beside  it  from  the  Marechal  de  Richelieu. 
A  portrait  of  ray  grandmother,  taken  when  she  was 
twenty-five,  and  now  in  an  oval  frame,  hangs  opposite 
to  that  of  the  king.  The  prince  is  not  there.  I  like 
this  frank  neglect,  without  hypocris}^  which  paints  at 
one  stroke  her  remarkable  character.  Once  when  she 
was  very  ill  her  confessor  insisted  that  the  prince,  who 
was  waiting  at  the  door,  should  be  allowed  to  enter. 
*' Very  well,"  she  said,  "  with  the  doctor  and  his  pills." 
The  bedstead  is  a  four-poster  witli  fluted  canopy  ; 
the  curtains  are  draped  back  in  folds  of  splendid 
amplitude  ;  the  furniture  is  all  of  gilded  wood,  covered 
in  3^ellow  damask  with  white  designs  ;  the  window-cur- 
tains are  of  the  same  material,  lined  with  white  silk  of 
a  kind  which  resembles  moire.  The  panels  above  the 
doors  are  painted  artisticall}^  but  I  do  not  know  b}^ 
whom  ;  one  represents  a  sunrise,  the  other  a  brilliant 
moonlight.  The  fireplace  is  treated  very  curiously. 
It  explains  how  in  the  last  century  they  sat,  literallj', 
in  the  chimney  corner.  There  the  great  events  of  the 
family  took  place.  The  brass  fireplace  is  a  marvel  of 
modelling,  the  mantel  of  exquisite  finish,  the  shovels 
and  tongs  of  the  finest  workmanship,  and  the  bellows 
delicious.  The  tapestry  that  covers  the  screen  comes 
from  the  Gobelins,  and  is  beautifully  mounted ;  the 
fairy  figures  carved   along  the  frame  and   on  the  fret 


Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women.     11 

and  bar  are  ravishing,  —  the  workmanship  as  delicate 
as  that  on  a  fan.  I  wonder  who  gave  her  that  dainty 
bit  of  furniture  of  which  she  was  so  fond ;  I  wish  I 
knew.  How  many  times  I  have  seen  her  with  her  feet 
on  the  bar,  buried  in  her  recUning  chair,  her  dress 
raised  nearly  to  her  knees,  taking  up  her  snuffbox, 
replacing  it,  and  taking  it  again  from  the  little  table  on 
which  it  always  stood  between  her  box  of  pastilles  and 
her  silk  mittens.  How  dainty  she  was  !  To  the  day  of 
her  death  she  took  as  much  care  of  her  person  as  she 
did  when  that  beautiful  portrait  was  made  of  her,  and 
the  flower  of  the  king's  court  pressed  around  her.  That 
reclining-chair,  as  I  look  at  it  now,  reminds  me  of  the 
inimitable  movement  she  gave  to  her  skirts  when  she 
threw  herself  into  it.  The  women  of  her  day  have 
carried  off  with  them  certain  secrets  which  painted 
their  epoch.  The  princess  had  a  turn  of  her  head,  a 
way  of  casting  her  words  and  looks  about  her,  a 
pecuhar  language  of  her  own,  which  have  not  descended 
to  my  mother.  Tliere  was  artifice  and  diplomacy  in  it 
all ;  at  the  same  time  kindliness,  and  design  without  a 
plot.  Her  conversation  was  prolix  and  yet  laconic  ;  she 
told  a  story  well,  and  could  paint  an  eflfect  in  three 
words.  Above  all,  she  had  a  freedom  of  judgment 
which  has  certainly  influenced  the  cast  of  my  mind. 

From  the  time  I  was  seven  till  I  was  ten  3'ears  old  I 
lived,  as  they  say,  in  her  pocket.     She  loved  to  have 


12     Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women. 

me  with  her  as  much  as  I  loved  to  be  there.  This 
liking  was  the  cause  of  more  than  one  quarrel  between 
her  and  my  mother.  Now,  nothing  fans  the  flame  of 
a  sentiment  as  much  as  the  cold  wind  of  disapproval. 
With  what  a  charm  she  used  to  sa}"  to  me  :  ''  Ah  !  here 
you  are,  little  mischief!"  when  that  eel,  curiosit}',  had 
lent  me  its  motions  to  slip  into  her  room.  She  knew  I 
loved  her,  and  she  loved  my  childish  iove,  which  was 
like  a  sun-ray  to  her  winter. 

I  don't  know  what  went  on  in  her  rooms  at  night, 
but  she  received  a  great  deal  of  companj^  When  I 
crept  on  tiptoe  in  the  mornings  to  see  if  her  window 
shutters  were  opened,  I  found  the  furniture  in  .the  salon 
all  out  of  place,  the  card-tables  in  confusion,  and  a 
great  deal  of  tobacco  scattered  about. 

This  salon  is  in  the  same  style  as  the  bed-chamber. 
The  furniture  is  curiously  turned ;  the  woodwork  has 
hollow  mouldings  a  pieds  de  hiche.  Garlands  of 
flowers,  richl}^  carved  and  very  graceful,  twine  about 
the  mirror  frames  and  fall  in  festoons  over  the  glass. 
Two  beautiful  Chinese  vases  are  on  the  pier-tables. 
The  chief  tone  of  the  whole  arrangement  is  scarlet  and 
white.  My  grandmother  was  a  glowing  and  piquante 
brunette,  as  3'ou  can  easily  guess  from  her  choice  of 
colors. 

I  have  found  a  writing-table  in  this  salon  which 
used  to  take  my  fanc}^  as  a  child ;   it  is  inlaid  with 


Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women.     13 

silver,  chased  and  embossed,  and  was  made  for  her  by 
a  man  named  Lommellini,  of  Genoa.  Each  side  of 
this  table  represents  the  occupations  of  one  of  the  four 
seasons  ;  the  figures  are  in  relief,  and  there  are  hundreds 
in  each  division.  I  have  spent  two  hours  all  alone, 
picking  up  my  recollections,  one  after  the  other,  in  this 
sanctuary  where  one  of  the  most  celebrated  women  of 
Louis  XV.'s  court  (at  which  all  the  women  were  cele- 
brated for  their  wit  or  their  beauty)  lived  and  died. 
You  know  how  suddenly  and  harshly  the}'  separated 
me  from  her  in  1816. 

"Go  and  say  good-b3-e  to  your  grandmother,"  my 
mother  said  to  me  one  morning. 

I  ran  to  the  princess ;  she  was  not  surprised  at  my 
departure  and  seemed  indifferent  to  it ;  her  manner  was 
the  same  as  usual. 

"You  are  going  to  the  convent,  m}^  treasure,"  she 
said.  "  You  will  see  3'our  aunt,  —  an  excellent  woman. 
I  shall  take  care  that  you  are  not  sacrificed ;  you  shall 
be  independent,  and  able  to  marry  whom  you.  please." 

She  died  six  months  later,  after  confiding  her  will  to 
the  most  assiduous  of  her  many  old  friends,  the  Prince 
de  Talleyrand,  who  once,  when  making  a  visit  to  Made- 
moiselle de  Chargeboeuf,  took  occasion  to  tell  me  that 
my  grandmother  forbade  me  to  take  the  vows.  I  hope 
that  sooner  or  later  I  may  meet  the  prince,  and  then,  I 
dare  sa}-,  he  will  tell  me  more  of  what  she  said. 


14     Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women. 

So  3'ou  see,  my  darling,  that  although  I  found  no  one 
to  receive  me,  I  have  consoled  m3-self  with  the  shade 
of  the  dear  old  princess.  And  I  have  also  begun  the 
fulfilment  of  our  mutual  agreement ;  which  was,  you 
remember,  to  tell  each  other  the  most  trifling  events 
of  our  lives  and  suiToundings.  It  is  so  sweet  to  know 
where  and  how  our  dear  ones  live  !  Tell  me  everything 
—  the  least  little  things  that  happen  around  you,  even 
to  the  sunset  lights  among  the  trees. 

October  1. 

I  arrived  here  about  half-past  three  in  the  afternoon. 
At  half-past  five  Rose  informed  me  that  my  mother  had 
come  in,  and  I  went  down  at  once  to  pay  my  respects. 
My  mother  occupies  on  the  ground-floor  an  apartment 
which  is  arranged  exactly  like  mine ;  both  are  in  the 
corner  tower,  or  pavilion.  I  am  just  above  her  and  we 
both  have  the  same  private  staircase.  M}^  father  is  in 
the  pavilion  at  the  other  corner  of  the  house ;  but  as, 
at  that  end,  there  is  a  great  deal  of  space  which  at  ours 
is  occupied  by  the  grand  staircase,  his  apartment  is  verj^ 
much  larger  than  either  of  ours. 

Notwithstanding  the  duties  of  their  position  now  laid 
upon  them  by  the  return  of  the  Bourbons,  my  father 
and  mother  continue  to  live  on  the  ground-floor,  where 
there  is  plenty  of  room  for  the  reception  of  guests,  —  so 
vast  are  the  houses  that  our  forefathers  built. 


Memoirs  of  Two    Young  Married  Women.     15 

I  found  my  mother  in  her  salon,  where  nothing  had 
been  changed.  She  was  dressed  for  the  evening.  As 
I  went  down  step  by  step,  I  kept  asking  myself  how 
she  would  treat  me  —  she  who  was  so  little  of  a  mother 
to  me  that  in  all  the  eight  3'ears  I  had  been  in  the  con- 
vent she  had  written  me  but  the  two  letters  I  showed 
you.  Thinking  it  would  be  very  false  in  me  to  pretend 
to  an  impossible  tenderness,  I  made  mj'self  a  kind  of 
dutiful  idiot,  and  entered  her  presence  much  embarrassed 
inwardly.  But  the  embarrassment  was  soon  over.  My 
mother  received  me  charmingl}^ ;  she  put  on  no  false 
tenderness ;  neither  was  she  cold ;  she  did  not  treat  me 
as  a  stranger,  nor  did  she  press  me  to  her  bosom  as  a 
long-lost  daughter ;  she  behaved  exactly  as  if  she  had 
seen  me  the  evening  before,  and  felt  to  me  as  the  kind- 
est and  sincerest  of  friends ;  she  addressed  me  as  if  I 
were  a  grown  woman,  and  kissed  me  on  the  forehead. 

"My  dear  girl,"  she  said,  "  if  you  were  really  dying 
in  the  convent  it  is,  of  course,  better  that  3'ou  should 
live  here  with  us.  You  disarrange  your  father's  plans 
and  mine  ;  but  the  day  has  passed  when  children  obeyed 
their  parents  blindly.  Monsieur  de  Chaulieu's  inten- 
tion, which  agrees  with  mine,  is  to  neglect  no  means  of 
making  life  agreeable  to  you  and  letting  3'ou  see  much 
of  the  world.  At  your  age  I  should  have  felt  as  you 
do ;  therefore,  of  course,  I  cannot  be  angry  with  you ; 
you  could  not  understand  what  it  was  we  wanted   of 


16     Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women. 

you.  You  will  not  find  me  absurdlj'  severe.  If  3'ou 
have  doubted  my  heart  toward  you,  j^ou  will  soon  find 
that  you  were  mistaken.  Though  I  wish  to  leave  you 
at  perfect  liberty  I  think  you  will  do  wisely  to  listen,  at 
first,  to  the  counsels  of  a  mother  who  intends  to  be  a 
sister  to  you." 

The  duchess  spoke  in  a  gentle  voice,  arranging  my 
pelerine  as  she  did  so.  She  fascinated  me.  At  thirt}-- 
eight  she  is  as  beautiful  as  an  angel.  Her  eyes  are 
blue  and  black,  the  lashes  silky,  the  forehead  without  a 
line,  the  complexion  so  perfect  that  a  stranger  might 
think  she  painted.  Her  shoulders  and  throat  are  mar- 
vellous ;  her  waist  as  slender  and  flexible  as  yours  ;  her 
hands  are  of  rare  beauty,  white  as  milk,  —  the  nails 
sparkle  in  the  light,  so  polished  are  they ;  the  little 
finger  stands  out  a  trifle  from  the  rest,  and  the  thumb 
is  like  ivory.  Her  foot  is  the  equal  of  her  hand  ;  it  is 
the  Spanish  foot  of  a  Demoiselle  de  Vandenesse.  If 
she  is  as  lovely  as  this  when  nearly  fort3',  she  will  still 
be  a  beautiful  woman  at  sixty. 

I  answered  her,  my  darling,  like  a  good,  submissive 
daughter.  I  was  to  her  what  she  was  to  me  ;  in  fact, 
I  was  even  better,  for  her  beauty  conquered  me  ;  I  for- 
gave her  neglect.  I  began  to  see  how  such  a  woman 
was  inevitably  carried  away  by  her  role  of  queen.  I 
told  her  so  as  candidly  as  I  might  have  said  it  to  you. 
Perhaps  she  did  not  expect  to  hear  words  of  love  from 


Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women.     17 

the  lips  of  her  daughter.  The  sincere  homage  of  my 
admiration  seemed  to  touch  her ;  her  manner  changed 
and  became  more  winning  than  before.  ^'  You  are  a 
good  girl,"  she  said,  "  and  I  hope  we  shall  always  be 
friends."  That  speech  seemed  to  me  adorably  naive ; 
but  I  took  care  not  to  show  her  that  I  thought  so,  —  for 
I  had  instantly  perceived  that  I  must  let  her  think  her- 
self much  cleverer  and  more  astute  than  her  daughter. 
So  I  made  myself  a  mere  silly  girl,  and  she  was  delighted 
with  me.  I  kissed  her  hands  a  great  many  times,  and 
told  her  how  glad  I  was  she  treated  me  as  she  did.  I 
felt  so  much  at  my  ease  with  her  that  I  even  told  her 
of  my  fears.  She  smiled  and  drew  me  to  her  b^^  my 
neck  and  kissed  me  on  the  forehead  very  tenderl3\ 
"  Dear  child,"  she  said,  "  we  have  company  to  dinner 
to-day,  and  I  dare  say  you  will  agree  with  me  that  3'ou 
bad  better  wait  till  the  dress-maker  has  properly  arrayed 
you  before  3'ou  make  your  entrance  into  the  great 
world.  So,  after  3'ou  have  seen  3'our  father  and  3'our 
brother,  you  will  return  to  3^our  own  apartments."  I 
agreed  to  that  ver3'  heartil3'.  My  mother's  enchanting 
toilet  was  a  first  revelation  to  the  eye  of  that  social 
world  of  our  dreams,  —  3^ours  and  mine.  My  father 
presently  came  in.  "  Monsieur,  this  is  30ur  daughter," 
said  the  duchess. 

My   father's   manner   to   me   was   very   tender;   he 
played  his  part  of  father  so  perfectly  that  I  thought  it 

2 


18     Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women. 

was  sincere.  "So  here  you  are,  my  rebellious 
daughter ! "  he  said,  taking  both  my  hands  in  liis  and 
kissing  them  with  more  of  gallantry  than  paternity. 
Then  he  drew  me  toward  him,  passed  his  arm  about  my 
waist,  and  kissed  me  on  the  forehead  and  both  cheeks. 
'^  You  must  atone  for  the  injury  your  change  of  voca- 
tion is  to  the  family  by  the  pleasure  your  success  in 
society  will  give  us.  You  see,  madame,  that  she  will 
soon  be  a  very  prett}'  girl,  of  whom  you  may  well  feel 
proud.  Here  is  your  brother  Rh^tore.  Alphonse,"  he 
said  to  a  handsome  young  man  who  now  came  in, 
''  this  is  your  sister,  the  nun,  who  cannot  be  persuaded 
to  wear  the  habit." 

My  brother  lounged  up  to  me  and  shook  my  hand. 
"  Why,  kiss  her !  "  said  the  duke.  Then  he  kissed  me 
on  both  cheeks.  "  I  am  delighted  to  see  you,  sister," 
he  said,  "  and  I  am  on  your  side  against  my  father."  I 
thanked  him ;  but  all  the  same  I  think  he  might  have 
stopped  in  Blois  to  see  me  when  he  was  on  his  way  to 
Orleans  to  visit  our  brother,  the  marquis,  in  garrison. 
I  now  withdrew,  fearing  the  company  might  arrive.  I 
have  made  a  few  changes  in  my  rooms,  and  have  laid 
out  on  the  scarlet  velvet  of  my  table  all  that  I  need  for 
my  letters  to  you,  thinking  meantime  of  the  novelties 
of  my  position. 

And  now  I  have  told  you,  my  dear  white  darling, 
exactly,  neither  more  nor  less,  how  things  have  hap- 


Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women.     19 

pened  to  me,  a  girl  of  eighteen,  who  has  returned  after 
an  absence  of  nine  3'ears  to  the  bosom  of  one  of  the 
most  iUustrious  families  in  the  kingdom.  The  journey 
had  tired  me ;  also  the  emotions  of  this  return  ;  so  1 
went  to  bed,  as  we  did  in  the  convent,  at  eight  o'clock, 
directly  after  supper.  They  have  even  given  me  the 
little  Dresden  china  service  the  dear  princess  always 
used  when  the  fancy  took  her  to  dine  alone  in  her 
apartment. 


II. 

SAME   TO   SAME. 

November  25. 

The  next  morning  I  found  my  apartments  put  in 
order  by  old  Philippe,  who  had  even  filled  the  vases 
with  flowers.  In  short,  I  am  fairly  installed.  The 
only  trouble  was  that  no  one  remembered  that  a  Car- 
melite novice  was  sure  to  be  hungry  at  an  early  hour, 
and  Rose  had  much  trouble  to  get  me  some  breakfast, 
*'  Mademoiselle  went  to  bed  just  as  dinner  was  served, 
and  she  got  up  this  morning  just  as  monseigneur  was 
coming  home  for  the  night,"  she  said. 

About  one  o'clock  my  father  knocked  at  the  door  of 
my  little  salon  and  asked  if  I  could  receive  him.  I 
opened  the  door ;  he  came  in  and  saw  that  I  was  writ- 
ing.    "My  dear,"  he   said,  "  3^ou  will  wish  to  dress 


20     Memoirs  of  Two    Young  Married  Women. 

suitably,  and  also  to  make  yourself  thoroughly  com- 
fortable ill  these  rooms ;  you  will  therefore  find  twelve 
thousand  francs  in  this  purse.  That  is  one  year's 
allowance,  which  I  advance  to  you  for  that  purpose. 
You  can  arrange  with  your  mother  to  find  another  com- 
panion if  Miss  Griffith  does  not  suit  you ;  for  Madame 
de  Chaulieu  will  not,  of  course,  have  time  to  be  with 
you  in  the  mornings.  You  will  have  a  carriage  at  yom 
orders,  and  a  footman."  "May  I  keep  Philippe?"  I 
asked.  "  Certainly,"  he  replied.  "Do  not  feel  at  all 
uneasy  about  monej' ;  3'our  own  fortune  is  large  enough 
to  keep  you  from  being  any  expense  to  your  mother  or 
me."  "Should  I  be  very  indiscreet  if  I  asked  to  be 
told  how  large  my  fortune  is?"  I  said.  "Certainly 
not,  my  child,"  he  answered.  "  Your  grandmother  left 
you  five  hundred  thousand  francs,  the  amount  of  her 
savings ;  for  she  would  not  deprive  her  family  of  a 
single  inch  of  land.  That  sum-  is  invested  in  the 
Funds.  The  accumulation  of  interest  added  to  it  now 
produces  about  fort}^  thousand  francs  a  year.  I  wished 
to  employ  that  mone}'  in  making  a  fortune  for  your 
second  brother ;  therefore  by  refusing  to  become  a  nun 
you  have  upset  all  mj^  plans  ;  but  perhaps  3'ou  will  con- 
cur in  them  later.  I  shall  expect  great  things  of  you. 
You  seem  to  me  much  more  reasonable  than  I  antici^ 
pated.  I  need  not  tell  you  how  a  Demoiselle  de  Chau- 
lieu is  expected  to  conduct  herself;  the  pride  I  see  in 


Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women.     21 

your  features  is  my  surest  guarantee.  In  our  family  the 
precautions  lesser  persons  take  about  their  daughters 
would  be  insulting  to  us.  Mere  gossip  on  your  ac- 
count would  cost  the  life  of  whoever  presumed  to 
utter  it,  or  that  of  one  of  3'our  brothers  if  fate  were 
unjust  to  them.  That  is  all  I  need  say  to  you  on  that 
head.  Adieu,  my  dear  little  girl."  Then  he  kissed 
me  on  the  forehead  and  departed. 

After  persevering  for  nine  years  in  this  plan  of  giving 
my  money  to  my  second  brother,  I  can't  explain  to 
myself  why  it  should  suddenly  be  abandoned.  My 
father  certainly  spoke  out  frankl}',  in  a  way  I  like. 
There  was  no  ambiguity  in  what  he  said.  My  property 
was  about  to  be  given  to  his  son  the  marquis.  Who 
has  had  bowels  of  compassion  for  me  ?  Is  it  my  mother  ? 
or  my  father?  or  my  brother? 

I  remained  seated  on  my  grandmother's  sofa,  with 
my  eyes  fixed  on  the  purse  my  father  had  laid  on  the 
mantel-piece,  pleased  and  yet  displeased  by  this  atten- 
tion, which  fixed  my  mind  on  the  question  of  money. 
It  is  true  I  need  not  think  about  it  an}^  longer ;  my 
doubts  are  solved ;  and  there  is  something  dignified  in 
sparing  m}'  pride  any  suffering  on  that  account. 

Philippe  was  busy  all  day  in  going  from  one  shop  to 
another  to  produce  my  metamorphosis.  A  celebrated 
dress-maker  named  Victorine  arrived ;  also  a  linen- 
maker  and  a  shoe-maker.     I  am  as  eager  as  a  child  to 


22     Memoirs  of  Tiuo   Young  Married  Women. 

know  what  I  shall  look  like  when  I  emerge  from  the 
sacks  of  our  conventual  garments.  But  all  these  work- 
people require  such  an  amount  of  time !  The  corset- 
maker  insists  on  eight  daj^s,  unless  I  mean  to  ruin  my 
figure.  That  sounds  serious;  so  1  have  "a  figure," 
have  I !  Janssen,  the  opera  shoe-maker,  assured  me 
positively  that  I  had  "  my  mother's  foot." 

I  spent  the  whole  morning  in  these  important  occu- 
pations. A  glove-maker  took  the  measure  of  my  hand. 
The  linen-maker  came  for  my  orders.  At  my  dinner- 
time (which  was  that  of  the  famil}^  breakfast)  my 
mother  informed  me  that  we  would  go  together  to  a 
milliner  for  my  hats  and  bonnets,  —  so  as  to  form  my 
taste,  and  show  me  how  to  order  for  myself  in  future. 
I  'm  as  giddy  from  this  beginning  of  independence  as  a 
blind  man  must  be  when  he  gets  his  sight.  I  can  judge 
now  what  a  Carmelite  is  to  a  girl  in  societ}' ;  the  differ- 
ence is  so  great  that  you  and  I  never  had  the  faintest 
conception  of  it. 

During  breakfast  my  father  seemed  absent-minded, 
and  we  left  him  to  his  thoughts ;  he  is  intrusted  with 
many  of  the  king's  secrets.  I  was  completelj-  forgotten  ; 
but  he  will  remember  me  whenever  I  can  be  useful  to 
him  — I  saw  that.  M}^  father  is  an  attractive  man,  in 
spite  of  his  fift}^  years.  His  figure  is  youthful  and  well- 
made  ;  he  is  fair  ;  his  whole  bearing  is  exquisitely  grace- 
ful ;  his  face  has  the  speaking  and  yet  mute  expression 


Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women.     23 

of  a  diplomatist's  ;  his  nose  is  thin  and  long ;  his  ejes 
are  brown.  What  a  handsome  couple  they  are  !  How 
many  strange  thoughts  crowded  into  my  mind  as  I  saw 
clearly  that  these  two  beings,  equally  noble,  rich,  and 
superior,  had  nothing  in  common  but  their  name ;  had 
no  life  together,  and  were  merely  united  conventionally 
in  the  eyes  of  the  world  ! 

The  elite  of  the  court  and  the  diplomatic  circles  were 
here  last  night.  A  few  weeks  hence  I  am  to  go  to  a 
ball  given  by  the  Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse,  and  be 
presented  to  the  great  world  I  want  so  much  to  know. 
A  dancing-master  is  to  come  every  morning,  and  I  must 
learn  to  dance  in  a  month,  under  pain  of  not  going  to 
the  ball.  Before  dinner  my  mother  had  a  talk  with  me 
about  the  governess,  or  companion.  I  said  I  would 
keep  Miss  Griffith,  who  was  recommended  to  her  by 
the  Austrian  ambassador.  She  is  the  daughter  of  a 
clergyman,  and  well  brought  up ;  her  mother  was  a 
woman  of  rank ;  she  is  thirt3^-six  years  old,  and  will 
teach  me  English.  The  Griffith  is  still  good-looking 
enough  to  have  certain  pretensions ;  she  is  poor  and 
proud  and  Scotch ;  she  is  to  be  my  chaperone,  and  will 
sleep  with  Rose ;  Rose  is  under  her  orders.  I  saw  at 
once  that  I  could  govern  my  governess.  During  the  six 
days  that  we  have  now  been  together  she  has  found  out 
that  I  alone  take  an  interest  in  her  ;  and  I  have  just  as 
thoroughly  understood,  in  spite  of  her  marble  face,  that 


24    Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women. 

she  will  be  very  complying  to  me.  I  think  she  is  a 
kind  creature,  though  terribly  discreet.  I  have  not  been 
able  to  find  out  what  has  passed  between  herself  and 
my  mother. 

Here 's  another  thing  which  seems  of  no  great  conse- 
quence. My  father  has  declined  the  ministry  which 
was  offered  to  him.  It  was  that  which  made  him  so 
absent-minded  last  night.  He  says  he  prefers  an 
embass}'  to  endless  discussions  on  public  affairs.  He 
wants  Spain.  I  heard  all  this  at  breakfast,  —  the  only 
moment  of  the  day  when  my  father,  mother,  and 
brother  see  each  other  with  any  sort  of  intimacy.  The 
servants  only  come  in  when  rung  for.  The  rest  of  the 
time  my  brother,  like  my  father,  is  out  of  the  house. 
My  mother  dresses ;  she  is  never  visible  between  two 
and  four  o'clock.  At  four  she  goes  out  for  an  hour's 
drive ;  she  receives  from  six  to  seven  when  she  does 
not  dine  out ;  and  her  evenings  are  spent  in  some  kind  of 
pleasure,  —  the  theatre,  balls,  concerts,  visits.  In  fact, 
her  life  is  so  full  I  don't  believe  she  ever  has  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  to  herself.  She  must  spend  a  good  deal  of 
time  on  her  toilet  in  the  mornings,  for  she  is  divinely 
beautiful  at  breakfast,  which  is  served  between  eleven 
and  twelve  o'clock.  I  begin  to  understand  the  sounds 
I  hear  in  her  apartments,  which  are  below  mine.  She 
takes  an  almost  cold  bath  when  she  rises,  and  a  cup  of 
coffee,  cold,  with   cream ;    then   she  dresses.     She   is 


Memoirs  of  Two    Young  Married  Women,     25 

Dever  awake  before  nine,  except  under  extraordinary 
circumstances.  In  summer  she  goes  out  early  on  horse- 
back. At  two  o'clock  she  receives  a  young  man  whom 
I  have  not  yet  seen. 

That 's  our  family  life.  We  meet  at  breakfast  and 
dinner,  though  sometimes  my  mother  and  I  take  the 
latter  meal  alone ;  and  I  fanc}^  I  shall  often  have  to 
dine  in  my  own  apartment  with  Miss  Griffith,  like  the 
princess,  for  my  mother  has  many  invitations  to  dinner. 
I  no  longer  wonder  at  the  little  interest  my  family  have 
taken  in  me.  My  dear,  in  Paris  there  is  a  sort  of 
heroism  in  loving  those  who  belong  to  us,  for  we  don't 
belong  to  ourselves.  And  how  easy  to  forget  the 
absent  in  the  whirl  of  such  a  life.  I  see  that,  and  yet 
I  have  not  set  foot  out  of  doors  and  know  nothing  of 
it ;  I  shall  wait  till  I  am  less  of  a  rustic  and  my  dress 
and  manner  are  more  in  keeping  with  this  great  world, 
whose  rush  amazes  me  though  I  only  hear  the  echo  of 
it  from  afar.  Up  to  this  time  I  have  not  been  beyond 
the  garden. 

The  Italian  opera  begins  in  a  few  days ;  my  mother 
has  a  box.  I  am  crazy  to  hear  Italian  music  and  to  see 
French  opera.  I  am  beginning  to  shake  off  convent 
habits  and  am  learning  those  of  the  great  world.  I  am 
writing  to  you  just  before  going  to  bed  ;  and  my  bed- 
time is  now  as  late  as  ten  o'clock,  the  hour  when  my 
mother  goes  out,  —  unless,  to  be  sure,  she  goes  to  some 


26     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women. 

theatre.  Just  think,  there  are  twelve  theatres  in  Paris ! 
I  read  a  good  deal,  but  in  a  desultory  way  ;  my  igno- 
rance is  crass.  One  book  leads  to  another.  I  find  the 
titles  of  several  books  on  the  cover  of  the  one  I  am 
reading ;  but  I  have  no  one  to  tell  me  how  to  choose, 
and  I  find  some  of  them  verj^  stupid.  All  that  I  have 
read  of  modern  literature  so  far  turns  on  love,  —  the 
subject  you  and  I  used  to  talk  of  so  much  ;  for  is  n't  our 
fate  made  for  us  by  man  and  for  man?  But  oh!  my 
dearest,  how  far  these  writers  are  beneath  the  ideas  of 
two  little  girls  named  Renee  and  Louise  !  My  angel ! 
such  trivial  events,  such  queer  behavior,  and  then, 
such  mean  and  paltry  expressions  of  feeling !  Still, 
I  have  liked  two  books  very  much.  One  is  called 
*'  Corinne,"  the  other  "  Adolphe."  Apropos  of  that,  I 
asked  my  father  if  I  could  see  Madame  de  Stael.  My 
mother  and  father  and  Alphonse  laughed.  Alphonse 
said:  *' Where  does  she  come  from?"  My  father 
replied,  "  From  the  Carmelites,  and  we  are  silly  to 
laugh."  "My  dear,"  said  the  duchess,  gentl}^  "Ma- 
dame de  Stael  is  dead." 

"How  can  a  woman  be  deceived?"  I  asked  Miss 
GriflEith  when  I  finished  "  Adolphe."  "Because  she 
loves,"  replied  Miss  Griffith.  Renee,  do  3'ou  think  a 
man  could  deceive  either  you  or  me?  Miss  Griffith 
has  ended  by  finding  out  that  I  am  not  more  than  half 
a  fool,  and  that  I  really  have  a  hidden  education,  —  that 


Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women.     27 

which  you  and  I  gave  ourselves  by  discussing  every- 
thing in  heaven  and  earth.  She  sees  that  my  ignorance 
is  chiefly  about  external  things.  The  poor  creature 
has  opened  her  heart  to  me.  That  laconic  answer  I 
mentioned  above,  set  in  the  balance  against  various 
imaginable  misfortunes,  made  me  quiver.  La  GrifHth 
warned  me  not  to  let  myself  be  dazzled  by  what  I  was 
about  to  see  of  the  world ;  to  distrust  ever3'thing, 
especially  that  which  pleased  me  most.  That 's  all  she 
knows,  and  she  can't  tell  me  anything  more.  It  is 
very  monotonous.     She  is  like  a  bird  with  one  note. 


III. 


SAME  TO  SAME. 

December. 
My  treasure,  —  Here  I  am,  all  ready  to  enter  the 
great  world ;  and  I  have  been  as  silly  as  I  can  be 
in  making  ready  for  it.  This  morning,  after  much 
practising,  I  beheld  myself  duly  and  properlj^  sliod, 
corseted,  laced,  curled,  dressed,  and  decorated.  I  was 
like  a  duellist  before  fighting ;  I  practised  with  closed 
doors.  I  wanted  to  see  myself  under  arms,  and  I 
was  pleased  enough  to  find  I  had  a  little  triumphant 
and  vanquishing  air,  which,  I  flatter  myself,  will  be  all- 
conquering.     I  examined  and  judged  myself  severely 


28     Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women. 

I  reviewed  my  forces,  —  putting  in  practice  that  fine 
maxim  of  antiquitj' :  "  Know  thyself."  I  assure  3'ou  I 
had  much  pleasure  in  making  my  own  acquaintance. 
Griffith  alone  was  in  the  secret  of  this  doll's-play.  I 
was  doll  and  child  in  one.  You  think  you  know  me  ? 
Well,  3'ou  don't ! 

Here,  Re  nee,  is  the  portrait  of  your  friend,  formerly 
disguised  as  a  Carmelite  and  now  brought  to  life  as  a 
frivolous  and  worldly  girl.  Provence  excepted,  I  am 
one  of  the  handsomest  creatures  in  France.  Take  that 
as  the  summing  up  of  the  present  chapter.  I  have 
defects  ;  but  if  I  were  a  man  I  should  fall  in  love  with 
them.  These  very  defects  promise  a  great  deal.  When 
for  more  than  two  weeks  one  has  daily  admired  the 
exquisite  plumpness  of  a  mother's  arms,  it  is  rather 
discouraging  to  see  one's  own  as  thin  as  sticks  ;  but  I 
console  myself  by  knowing  that  the  wrists  are  delicate, 
and  the  lines  so  soft  that  when  the  flesh  fills  up  the 
hollows  my  arms  will  be  as  dimpled,  round,  and  satiny 
as  hers.  The  shoulders  follow  suit  as  to  thinness ;  or 
rather,  to  tell  the  truth  I  have  no  shoulders,  nothing 
but  hard  blade-bones  which  form  two  flat  angularities. 
My  waist  has  no  flexibilit}^,  and  the  hips  are  rigid.  Ouf ! 
there  I  I've  told  the  worst.  On  the  other  hand,  this 
framework  is  delicate  and  firm,  and  health  sends  a 
pure,  bright  glow  through  the  vigorous  outlines ;  the 
blue  blood  of  life  flows  in  waves  beneath  a  skin  that  is 


Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women.     29 

almost  transparent.  Yes,  and  the  fairest  daughter  of 
Eve  is  a  negress  beside  me,  and  my  foot  is  that  of  a 
gazelle,  and  all  the  outlines  are  delicate,  and  my  features 
are  purest  Greek  !  There,  mademoiselle  !  The  flesh- 
tones  don't  blend  ver}^  well,  that 's  true  ;  but  they  are 
brilliant ;  I  'm  a  very  pretty  green  fruit,  and  I  have  the 
charm  of  greenness.  In  fact,  I  am  like  that  face  in  my 
aunt's  old  missal,  —  don't  you  remember? — which  rises 
from  a  crimson  lil}^ 

To  continue,  —  my  blue  eyes  are  not  stupid,  they 
are  proud  ;  two  mother-of  pearl  lids  with  blue  veins, 
fringed  with  silken  lashes,  surround  them.  My  fore- 
head is  dazzling ;  and  the  hair,  delightfully  planted, 
is  arranged  in  little  waves  of  pale  gold,  darker  in  the 
masses,  showing  that  I  am  not  a  faded,  fainting  blonde, 
but  a  Southern  fair  one,  full  of  blood,  vigorous  to  act 
and  not  be  acted  on.  The  hair-dresser  wanted  to 
plaster  it  down  in  two  bandeaux  and  put  a  pearl 
hanging  to  a  gold  chain  round  my  forehead,  declaring 
that  it  would  give  me  a  look  of  the  middle-ages  !  As  if  I 
wanted  to  be  of  any  age  but  what  I  am  ! 

My  nose  is  thin,  the  nostrils  well  cut  and  separated 
by  a  very  pretty  pink  partition ;  it  is  an  imperious 
nose,  rather  scoffing,  and  its  tip  too  nervous  ever  to 
grow  coarse  or  red.  In  short,  my  dear  darling,  if  my 
perfections  are  not  enough  to  marry  a  girl  without  a 
dowry,  I  'm  mistaken.   As  for  my  ears,  they  are  charm- 


30     Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women. 

ingly  modelled;  a  pearl  at  each  tip  looks  yellow  in 
them.  My  throat  is  long,  and  has  the  serpentine 
movement  which  gives  such  majesty  ;  when  in  shadow 
it  has  golden  tints.  Ah  !  I  do  think  my  mouth  is  too 
large,  —  but  it  is  very  expressive ;  the  lips  are  a  fine 
color,  and  the  teeth  smile  charmingly !  And  then,  my 
dear  darling,  all  is  in  harmony,  —  carriage  and  voice 
and  everything!  I  tr}^  to  remember  how  my  grand- 
mother swung  her  petticoats  without  ever  touching 
them.  I  know  I  am  handsome  and  graceful  enough  to 
follow  my  own  fancies ;  I  can  laugh  just  as  you  and  I 
used  to  laugh,  and  yet  be  respected.  I  can  be  merry 
and  gay,  and  yet  imposing.  I  shall  know  how  to  lower 
my  eyes,  and  pretend  to  an  icy  heail;  behind  that 
snowy  brow.  I  can  turn  that  swan-like  neck  like  a 
melancholy  madonna,  and  the  virgins  the  painters  paint 
will  be  leagues  beneath  me ;  for  you  know,  Eenee,  I 
shall  be  far  above  them  among  the  stars.  When  men 
speak  to  me  they  will  be  forced  to  modulate  their 
voices. 

So,  my  dear,  I  am  armed  at  all  points,  and  I  can 
run  the  gamut  of  coquetry  from  bass  to  treble,  from 
the  solemn  tones  to  the  flute-like  notes.  It  is  an 
immense  advantage  not  to  be  too  uniform.  My  mother 
is  neither  gay  nor  virginal ;  she  is  exclusively  digni- 
fied and  imposing ;  she  can  only  come  out  of  that  to 
make  herself  leonine ;  when  she  wounds  she  does  not 


Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women.     31 

know  how  to  heal ;  but  as  for  me,  I  '11  wound  and  heal 
both.  I  am  totally  different  from  my  mother  ;  therefore 
we  cannot  clash,  —  unless  we  quarrel  about  the  perfec- 
tion of  our  feet  and  hands,  which  are  exactly  alike. 
I  take  after  my  father ;  he  is  supple  and  delicate.  I 
have  the  manners  of  my  grandmother  and  her  tone  of 
voice,  —  a  head-voice  when  raised,  but  a  melodious 
chest-voice  in  a  tete-a-tete. 

Eenee !  it  seems  to  me  as  though  I  had  only  just 
left  the  convent.  I  am  not  3'et  of  the  world,  I  am  all 
unknown  to  it.  What  a  delicious  moment !  I  still 
belong  to  myself,  —  like  a  flower  just  blooming  and  yet 
unseen.  My  angel,  my  darling !  as  I  walk  my  salon 
looking  at  myself  in  the  glass,  seeing  the  innocent, 
ingenuous  cast-off  garments  of  the  novice,  the  school- 
girl, there  is  something  in  my  heart,  —  I  know  not 
what,  —  regrets  for  the  past,  anxieties  for  the  future, 
fears  of  the  world,  of  society,  farewells  to  our  white 
daisies,  innocently  gathered,  carelessly  stripped  of 
petals.  Ah !  there  was  much  in  all  that,  but  there 
were  also  fantastic  ideas,  which  I  here  and  now  drive 
back  into  the  depths  of  my  soul,  —  where  I  dare  not 
descend,  and  from  which  they  came. 

My  darling,  I  have  an  outfit  worthy  of  a  bride  !  All 
my  new  possessions  are  laid  in  perfumed  drawers  of 
cedar-wood  in  my  delightful  dressing-room.  I  have 
ribbons,  gloves,   boots,   and  shoes  in  profusion.    My 


32     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women. 

father  has  given  me  the  jewels  of  a  young  girl,  a  work- 
table,  dressing-case,  perfume-bottles,  fan,  parasols, 
pra^'er-book,  a  gold  chain,  and  a  cashmere  shawl.  He 
promises  to  have  me  taught  to  ride  on  horseback.  I 
already  know  how  to  dance  !  To-morrow,  yes,  to-mor- 
row night,  I  am  to  make  my  first  appearance.  My 
dress  is  a  gown  of  white  muslin,  with  a  wreath  of  white 
roses  arranged  in  the  Greek  style.  I  shall  assume  my 
madonna  air,  for  I  want  to  seem  simple-minded  and 
get  all  the  women  on  my  side. 

My  mother  is  a  thousand  leagues  from  suspecting 
what  I  write  to  you  ;  she  thinks  me  incapable  of  reflec- 
tion. My  brother  honors  me  with  ineffable  contempt, 
and  shows  me  all  the  kindness  of  his  indifference.  He 
is  a  fine  young  man,  but  whimsical  and  melancholy. 
I  've  detected  his  secret,  though  the  duke  and  duchess 
seem  not  to  know  it.  Though  a  duke  himself  and 
young,  he  is  jealous  of  his  father;  he  feels  he  is 
nobod}'  in  the  State ;  he  has  no  position  at  court ;  he 
can't  say,  ''  I  am  going  to  the  Chamber."  Yes,  I  have 
guessed  his  secret,  but  then,  to  be  sure,  I  am  the  only 
one  at  home  who  has  sixteen  hours  daily  for  reflection. 
My  father  is  deep  in  public  business  and  pleasures  ;  my 
mother  just  as  busy  with  society  ;  no  one  reacts  upon 
me  in  the  household,  for  they  are  always  out;  the}' 
don't  seem  to  have  time  enough  to  live.  I  'm  exceed- 
ingly curious  to  know  what  invincible  attraction  there 


Memoh'S  of  Two  Young  Married  Women.     33 

can  be  in  social  life  to  keep  people  out  of  their  homes 
till  two  or  three  in  the  mornings,  and  compel  them  to 
take  such  trouble  and  endure  such  fatigue. 

When  I  longed  so  much  to  come  here,  I  never  imag- 
ined such  household  estrangement  or  such  intoxicating 
occupations.  Now  I  know  that  members  of  a  family 
may  live  together  and  not  know  each  other.  A  girl 
who  is  half  a  nun  arrives,  and  in  two  weeks  she  dis- 
covers more  than  the  statesman  himself  knows  of  his 
own  household.  Perhaps  he  does  see  it,  though,  and 
pretends  to  this  paternal  blindness;  that's  another 
mystery  to  clear  up. 


IV. 

SAME    TO    SAME. 

December  15. 
Yesterday,  at  two  o'clock,  I  went  to  drive  in  the 
Champs-Elysees  and  the  Bois  de  Boulogne,  on  one  of 
those  glorious  autumn  days  you  and  I  have  so  often 
enjoyed  on  the  banks  of  the  Loire.  I  then  saw  Paris 
for  the  first  time.  The  whole  scene  of  the  place  Louis 
XV.  is  truly  glorious,  but  the  glory  is  of  man's  making. 
I  was  well-dressed,  demure,  though  inclined  to  laugh, 
with  a  calm  face  under  a  prett}-  bonnet,  and  my  hands 
folded.     No  one  smiled  at  me,  and  not  the  smallest 

3 


34     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women. 

little  man  stood  thunderstruck  on  his  legs  or  even 
turned  round  at  sight  of  me  ;  and  3'et  the  carriage 
moved  along  with  a  slowness  quite  in  keeping  with  my 
dignified  pose.  Staj^ !  I  'm  mistaken ;  a  charming 
duke  did  pass  and  turn  his  horse  round  abruptlj' ;  and 
that  man,  who  thus  saved  my  vanity,  was  my  own 
father,  whose  pride,  as  he  told  me,  was  much  flattered 
by  my  appearance. 

I  also  met  my  mother,  who  sent  me  a  pretty  greeting, 
like  a  kiss,  with  the  tips  of  her  fingers.  The  Griffith, 
who  was  quite  unconcerned,  gazed  about  her  on  all 
sides ;  for  my  part,  I  think  a  young  woman  ought 
always  to  know  where  she  looks.  One  man  stared  at 
my  carriage,  but  not  at  me ;  he  may  have  been  a 
carriage-maker.  I  think  I  deceived  myself  as  to  the 
value  of  my  charms ;  beauty,  that  rare  privilege  given 
by  God  only,  must  be  more  common  in  Paris  than 
I  thought.  I  noticed  that  mincing  and  coquettish 
women  were  much  noticed.  My  mother,  too,  was 
immensely  admired.  There  is  some  meaning  in  all  this, 
and  I  shall  find  it  out. 

The  men,  I  must  tell  3'ou,  dearest,  struck  me,  in 
general,  as  very  ugly;  and  I  don't  know  what  fatal 
genius  invented  their  clothes,  which  are  really  amazingly 
awkward,  when  one  compares  them  with  those  of  man- 
kind in  previous  centuries.  The  present  dress  is  minus 
color,  effectiveness,  or  poesy ;  it  speaks  neither  to  the 


Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women.     35 

senses  nor  the  eye  nor  the  intellect ;  and  it  must  be  very 
uncomfortable,  it  is  so  pinched  and  skimping.  The 
hat  strikes  me  particularly ;  it  is  the  section  of  a 
column,  perfectly  stiff,  and  does  n't  take  the  shape  of 
the  head  ;  but  they  tell  me  it  is  easier  to  make  a  revolu- 
tion than  to  improve  the  style  of  men's  hats.  The 
manhood  of  France  recoils  at  the  idea  of  wearing  a  soft 
felt  hat,  and  so,  for  want  of  one  day's  courage,  it 
condemns  itself  to  a  lifetime  of  that  ridiculous  chimnej- 
pot.  And  yet  they  say  Frenchmen  are  volatile !  But 
the  men  themselves  are  perfectly  horrible,  whatever  they 
wear  on  their  heads.  I  have  seen  such  hard  and  weary 
faces,  —  faces  in  which  there  is  neither  calmness  nor 
tranquillity ;  the  lines  all  clash,  and  the  wrinkles  tell  of 
balked  ambitions  and  mortified  vanit}' ;  a  noble  brow 
is  rarely  seen.  "  So  these  are  Parisians!"  I  said  to 
Miss  Griffith.  "Very  amiable  and  witty  men,"  she  re- 
plied. I  held  my  tongue.  A  spinster  of  thirty-six 
must  have  lots  of  indulgence  in  the  depths  of  her 
soul. 

In  the  evening  I  went  to  my  first  ball,  and  stayed 
close  to  my  mother,  who  gave  me  her  arm  with  a 
devotion  that  was  well  rewarded,  for  she  carried  ofl"  all 
the  honors.  I  was  a  mere  pretext  for  agreeable 
flatteries  to  her.  She  had  the  cleverness  to  make  me 
dance  with  idiots  who  told  me  how  hot  the  room  was, 
as  if  I  were  frozen,  and  talked  of  the  beauty  of  the 


36     Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married   Women. 

ball,  as  if  I  were  blind.  They  all  expatiated  on  the 
strange,  unheard-of,  singular,  andextraordinar3'  event  of 
seeing  me  in  societ}-  for  the  first  time.  My  dress,  with 
which  I  was  delighted  when  I  paraded  up  and  down 
m}^  white  and  gold  salon  all  alone,  now  seemed  hardly 
noticeable  among  the  marvellous  toilets  of  the  other 
women.  Each  of  those  women  had  her  attendant 
satellites ;  but  they  all  watched  each  other  out  of 
the  corners  of  their  eyes ;  some,  like  my  mother,  were 
resplendent  in  beaut3\ 

A  young  girl  counts  for  nothing  at  a  ball ;  she  is 
only  a  machine  to  dance  with.  The  men,  with  few 
exceptions,  seemed  to  me  no  better  than  those  I  saw 
in  the  Champs-^lysees.  They  look  worn  out ;  their 
features  have  no  character,  —  or  rather,  they  all  have 
the  same  character.  The  proud  and  vigorous  faces  I 
see  in  the  portraits  of  our  ancestors  —  the\^  who  joined 
moral  strength  to  physical  strength  —  exist  no  longer. 
There  was  present,  however,  a  man  of  great  talent 
who  certainly  stood  forth  from  the  rest  on  account  of 
his  personal  beaut}^ ;  hwi  he  did  not  give  me  the  keen 
sensation  I  expected.  It  is  true  that  I  have  not  read 
his  works,  and  he  is  not  a  nobleman.  No  matter  what 
the  genius  of  a  bourgeois  or  a  parvenu  ma}^  be,  I 
confess  m}^  blood  does  n't  tingle  for  such  as  the3\ 
Besides,  I  thought  this  particular  man  of  talent  so  full 
of  himself  and  so  oblivious  of  others  that  it  struck  me 


Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women.     37 

we  must  all  be  things,  not  beings,  to  these  great 
hunters  for  ideas.  When  men  of  talent  love  the}^ 
ought  to  cease  writing,  or  —  they  don't  love  ;  something 
in  their  brain  takes  precedence  of  their  mistress.  I 
thought  I  saw  all  that  in  the  behavior  of  this  man,  who 
is,  they  tell  me,  a  professor,  speaker,  author,  but  whose 
ambition  makes  him  the  servant  of  all  grandees. 

Well,  I  soon  decided  on  m}-  own  course.  I  thought 
it  was  very  unworthj^  of  me  to  be  angry  with  the  world 
for  my  want  of  success  ;  and  I  began  to  dance  without 
troubling  myself  any  more  about  it.  The  fact  is,  I  love 
dancing.  I  heard  all  sorts  of  stupid  gossip  going  on 
about  the  unknown  persons^ around  me.  It  seemed  to 
me  without  an}-  point ;  but  perhaps  I  needed  to  know 
certain  things  in  order  to  comprehend  it,  for  I  noticed 
that  most  of  the  men  and  women  took  the  keenest  plea- 
sure in  saying  and  hearing  particular  speeches.  Societ}^ 
evidently  has  a  host  of  enigmas  the  solution  of  which 
seems  rather  difficult,  —  a  multiplication  of  intrigues ! 
I  have  sharp  eyes  and  keen  ears,  and  as  to  m}'  inward 
perceptions,  you  know  about  them,  Mademoiselle  de 
Maucombe. 

I  came  home  tired,  and  glad  to  be  tired.  I  told  what 
I  thought  and  felt  yqyj  candidly  to  m}^  mother,  who 
was  with  me;  and  she  requested  me  to  confide  such 
things  to  no  one  but  herself.  "  M}'  dear  girl,"  she 
said,  "  good  taste  is  shown  as  much  in  knowing  what 


38     Memoirs  of  Ttvo   Young  Married   Women. 

things  we  may  not  speak  of  as  in  speaking  properly  of 
those  we  may." 

This  bit  of  advice  taught  me  to  understand  what  feel- 
ings we  ought  to  keep  silence  about  to  all  the  world, 
beginning  with  our  mother.  I  took  in  at  a  glance  the 
vast  extent  of  female  dissimulation.  My  darling,  I  do 
assure  you  that,  thanks  to  our  brazen  innocence,  you 
and  I  can  be  two  very  wide-awake  little  spies.  How 
much  may  be  discovered  from  a  finger  laid  on  a  lip,  a 
word,  a  look !  And  yet  my  mother's  caution  made  me 
timid  in  a  moment.  What !  can't  I  even  express  the 
natural  delight  I  feel  in  dancing?  If  so,  thought  I, 
what  becomes  of  the  utterance  of  real  feelings  ?  I 
went  to  bed  quite  sad.  I  am  still  under  the  shock  of 
this  first  encounter  of  my  frank,  gay  nature  with  the 
hard  laws  of  the  world.  There  's  a  shred  of  my  white 
wool  already  left  on  the  bushes  by  the  wayside. 

Adieu,  dear  angel. 

V. 

REN^E   DE   MAUCOMBE   TO   LOtJISE   DE   CHAULIEU. 

October, 
How  your  letter  moves  me,  —  especially  when  I  com- 
pare our  fates.     What  a  brilliant  world  3^ou  are  about 
to  live  in  !  and  in  what  a  peaceful  retreat  am  I  destined 
to  pass  my  obscure  existence  ! 


Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women,     39 

Two  weeks  after  m}^  return  to  Maucombe  (I  have 
told  3'ou  so  much  about  the  chateau  that  I  will  tell  you 
no  more,  except  that  I  found  m}'  room  just  as  I  had  left 
it,  and  am  now  able  to  enjoy  the  glorious  view  of  the 
valley  of  Gemenos  which  I  looked  at  as  a  child  with- 
out reall}^  seeing),  —  two  weeks  after  my  return  my 
father  and  mother,  accompanied  by  my  two  brothers, 
took  me  to  dine  with  one  of  our  neighbors,  Monsieur 
de  I'Estorade,  an  old  nobleman  who  has  become  very 
rich,  as  people  do  grow  rich  in  the  provinces,  by  sav- 
ing. This  old  man  was  unable  to  save  his  only  son 
from  Bonaparte's  rapacity.  After  buying  him  off  from 
the  conscription  he  was  forced  to  let  him  join  the  army 
in  1813,  as  member  of  the  Guard  of  Honor.  After  the 
battle  of  Leipzig  the  old  baron  heard  no  more  of  his 
son.  Monsieur  de  Montriveau,  to  whom  he  applied 
for  information,  declared  that  he  had  seen  the  young 
man  taken  prisoner  by  the  Russians.  Madame  de 
I'Estorade,  the  mother,  died  of  grief  after  a  search  in 
Russia  had  proved  fruitless.  The  baron,  who  is  truly 
religious,  practised  the  noble  virtue  you  and  I  used  to 
cultivate  at  Blois,  —  hope  !  Hope  showed  him  his  son 
in  dreams,  and  he  saved  his  income  and  his  wife's 
property  in  the  interests  of  that  lost  son. 

No  one  ever  dared  to  make  light  of  that  hope,  which 
is  now  justified  ;  and  I  have  discovered  that  the  unex- 
pected return  of  the  son  from  Russia  is  the  real  cause 


40     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women. 

of  my  return  from  the  Carmelites.  How  little  we  im- 
agined, when  our  thoughts  went  wandering  everywhere, 
that  my  future  husband  was  slowly  and  painfully  mak- 
ing his  way  on  foot  across  Russia,  Poland,  and  Ger- 
many. His  hardships  did  not  end  until  he  reached 
Berlin,  where  the  French  ambassador  facilitated  his 
return  to  France.  Monsieur  de  I'Estorade,  the  father, ' 
a  small  country  land-owner  in  Provence,  was  not  of 
suflBcient  consequence  in  Europe  to  make  his  son's 
name  a  passport. 

The  old  man  has  lately  bought  a  fine,  though  much 
neglected  estate,  which  he  intends  to  plant  with  mul- 
berries from  his  own  nurseries ;  and  this,  with  the 
income  from  the  mother's  property,  will  give  the 
Chevalier  de  I'Estorade  a  handsome  fortune.  The 
baron  now  has  but  one  idea,  that  of  marrying  his  son, 
—  marrying  him,  I  mean,  to  some  girl  of  rank.  My 
father  and  mother  entered  into  his  plans  as  soon  as  he 
told  them  his  desire  to  obtain  Mademoiselle  Renee  de 
Maucombe  without  a  dowry  for  his  son,  and  that  he 
would  settle  upon  her  in  the  marriage  contract  the  full 
sum  that  they  might  leave  to  her  in  their  wills.  At  the 
time  my  youngest  brother,  Jean,  came  of  age,  he  signed 
an  acknowledgment  of  having  received  from  his  parents 
a  sum  equivalent  to  one  third  of  their  inheritance. 
That  is  how  the  noble  families  of  Provence  evade  the 
infamous  civil  Code  of  the  Sieur  Bonaparte,  which  will 


Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women.     41 

consign  more  girls  to  the  convent  than  it  will  ever 
marr}'.  The  French  nobility  is,  however,  as  far  as  I 
can  make  out,  divided  in  opinion  on  this  subject. 

This  dinner,  my  darling,  as  you  have  already  im- 
agined, was  arranged  to  introduce  your  Renee  to  the 
exile.  Our  servants  all  wore  their  gala  liveries  and 
their  gold-laced  hats ;  the  coachman  put  on  his  high 
top-boots ;  all  five  of  us  got  into  the  old  state  coach, 
and  arrived  with  much  majesty  before  two  o'clock 
(dinner  being  at  three)  at  the  manor-house  of  the 
Baron  de  I'Estorade.  The  old  gentleman  has  no  cha- 
teau ;  it  is  a  simple  country-house,  standing  at  the 
foot  of  a  hill  and  looking  up  our  beautiful  valley,  the 
pride  of  which  is,  undoubtedl}^,  the  old  castle  of  the 
Comtes  de  Maucombe. 

This  establishment  is  simpl}^,  as  I  say,  a  manor- 
house.  The  walls  are  of  rubblestone  in  mortar,  stuccoed 
with  3'ellow  cement,  and  roofed  with  hollow  tiles  of  a 
fine  red  color.  The  windows,  placed  without  regard  to 
symmetrj%  have  enormous  outside  shutters,  painted 
yellow.  The  garden,  which  surrounds  the  building,  is 
a  true  Provence  garden,  enclosed  by  low  walls  built 
of  round  pebbles  laid  in  courses ;  an  iron  gate  at  the 
entrance  on  the  high-road  gives  a  somewhat  baronial 
air  to  the  place,  though  I  must  say  it  is  rather  thin  and 
reminds  me  of  Sister  Angelique.  The  house  has  a 
stone  portico  with  a  miserable  awning,  and  the  garden, 


42     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women. 

shrubs,  and  trees  are  horribly  dusty  and  neglected.  It 
is  easy  to  see  that  the  old  baron  has  just  vegetated 
from  day  to  day,  with  no  other  thought  than  of  piling 
up  his  savings  for  his  son.  He  eats  the  same  food  as 
his  two  servants,  —  a  Provencal  youth,  and  his  wife's 
former  maid. 

The  rooms  are  scarcely  furnished.  Nevertheless,  the 
whole  house  was  furbished  up  in  our  honor,  and  the 
dinner  was  served  on  the  family  plate,  much  embossed, 
and  blackened  by  time.  The  exile,  my  dear  darling, 
is  thin,  oh !  as  thin  as  that  railing.  He  is  pale,  he  is 
ill,  he  is  taciturn.  At  thirty-seven  years  of  age  he 
looks  to  be  fiftj-.  The  ebony  of  his  ex-fine  hair  is 
threaded  with  white  like  a  lark's  wing.  His  beautiful 
blue  e}' es  are  cavernous  ;  he  is  a  little  deaf,  which  gives 
him  some  resemblance  to  the  Knight  of  the  Sad  Coun- 
tenance. Nevertheless,  I  have  graciously  consented  to 
become  Madame  de  I'Estorade,  and  to  allow  myself  to 
be  dowered  with  two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs, 
but  on  the  express  condition  that  I  shall  be  mistress  of 
the  manor-house  and  be  allowed  to  make  a  park  around 
it.  I  have  also  requested  my  father  to  make  over  to 
me  a  little  water-course  which  can  be  made  to  lead 
from   Maucombe  here. 

In  a  month  I  shall  be  Madame  de  I'Estorade  ;  for  I 
found  favor  with  the  exile,  my  dear.  After  the  snows 
of  Siberia,  a  man  could  hardly  fail  to  like  a  pair  of 


Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women.     43 

black  eyes  which,  as  you  used  to  sa}^  ripen  the  fruits 
the}^  look  at.  Louis  de  I'Estorade  seems  much  pleased 
to  marry  "  the  beautiful  Renee  de  Maucombe,"  —  that 
is  the  glorious  appellation  of  your  old  friend  the  Carme- 
lite novice.  While  you  are  preparing  to  harvest  the 
delights  of  a  grand  existence,  that  of  a  Demoiselle  de 
Chaulieu,  in  the  Paris  where  she  reigns,  I,  your  poor 
little  white  doe,  Renee,  daughter  of  the  desert,  have 
fallen  from  the  empyrean  where  we  flew,  into  the  vulgar 
realities  of  a  fate  as  humble  as  that  of  a  daisy. 

Yes,  T  have  sworn  to  myself  to  console  this  poor 
young  man  who  has  had  no  youth,  who  went  from  his 
mother's  lap  to  the  hardships  of  war,  from  the  joys  of 
home  to  the  ice  and  toil  of  Siberia.  The  monotony  of 
my  days  to  come  will  be  varied  with  country-  pleasures, 
humble,  it  is  true,  but  pleasures  still.  I  will  extend 
the  oasis  of  the  valley  of  Gemenos  to  my  new  home, 
and  I  will  make  a  shady  park  about  me.  I  will  have 
lawns  that  are  always  green,  coverts  on  the  hillside, 
and  at  the  highest  point  of  all  I  will  build  a  pretty 
kiosk  and  see  from  thence  the  sparkling  Mediterra- 
nean. Orange  and  lemon  trees  and  all  the  choicest 
productions  of  botanical  nature  will  embellish  my  re- 
treat, and  —  I  shall  be  a  mother.  Yes,  a  natural, 
indestructible  poesy  will  surround  us.  By  remaining 
faithful  to  my  duties  I  shall  have  nought  to  fear.  My 
religious  feelings  are  fully  shared  by  my  father-in-law 
and  the  Chevalier  de  TEstoradc. 


44     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women. 

Ah!  treasure  mine,  I  see  life  stretching  before  me 
like  one  of  those  great  high-roads  of  France,  straight 
and  even,  shaded  by  the  eternal  trees.  There  will  not 
be  another  Bonaparte  in  this  centur}^,  and  I  can  keep 
my  children,  if  I  have  them,  with  me ;  I  can  train 
them,  educate  them,  make  men  of  them,  and  find  my 
life  in  theirs.  If  you  do  not  fail  of  your  destiny  you 
will  be  the  wife  of  one  of  the  powerful  of  this  earth, 
and  the  children  of  your  Renee  may  look  to  you  for 
protection. 

So,  then,  farewell,  for  me  at  least,  to  all  those  high 
romances  and  strange  vicissitudes  of  which  you  and  I, 
my  dearest,  were  once  the  heroines.  I  know  in  advance 
the  history  of  my  life ;  it  will  be  traversed  by  great 
events, —  the  cutting  of  the  Messieurs  de  TEstorade's 
teeth ;  their  food,  their  clothing,  the  mischief  they  will 
do  in  my  new  plantations.  To  watch  their  dawning 
lives,  to  embroider  their  caps,  to  be  loved  and  admired 
by  a  poor  sick  man  whose  comfort  I  am,  and  to  look  up 
ever  into  the  valley  of  Gemenos,  —  those  are  to  be  my 
pleasures.  Perhaps  this  countrywoman  may  some  daj- 
live  in  winter  at  Marseille ;  but  that 's  a  narrow,  pro- 
vincial stage  which  offers  no  danger. 

No,  I  shall  have  nothing  to  fear,  —  not  even  one  of 
those  admirations  which  make  us  justly  proud.  We 
shall  be  interested  in  the  silk-worms  for  whose  benefit 
we  sell  our  mulberry  leaves.     We  shall  know  the  ups 


Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women.     45 

and  downs  of  provincial  life  and  the  tempests  of  a 
household  where  quarrels  are  impossible,  for  Monsieur 
de  r  Estorade  makes  known  his  intention  of  being 
guided  by  his  wife.  Now,  as  I  shall  do  nothing  to 
confirm  him  in  that  great  wisdom,  he  will  probably 
persist  in  it. 

You  will  be,  my  dear  Louise,  the  one  romantic  spot 
in  my  existence.  Therefore  tell  me  all  your  experiences  ; 
describe  the  balls  and  fetes,  and  how  joxx  dress,  and 
what  flowers  crown  that  dear  blond  hair.  Tell  me,  too, 
all  that  men  say  and  do;  describe  their  ways.  I  shall 
be  your  double  as  you  listen  and  dance ;  I  shall  feel 
when  3"0ur  hand  is  pressed ;  I  shall  hear  you  laugh. 
Ah  !  we  shall  often  change  places ;  I  shall  amuse  my- 
self in  Paris,  while  you  are  the  mother  at  La  Crampade 
—  for  that,  by  the  bye,  is  the  name  of  my  future  manor. 
Poor  Monsieur  de  I'Estorade,  who  thinks  he  is  marry- 
ing only  one  woman  !  Will  he  find  out  that  he  has  mar- 
ried two  ?  Oh  !  what  nonsense  I  am  talking.  Let  me 
kiss  you  on  both  cheeks, —  my  lips  are  mine  still ;  he  has 
never  ventured  to  do  more  than  take  my  hand.  I  assure 
you  we  are  most  respectful ;  in  fact,  our  conventionality 
is  quite  distressing.  There  !  nonsense  again !  Adieu, 
dearest. 

P.  S.  I  have  just  received  your  third  letter.  Dear 
Louise,  I  have  about  a  thousand  francs  to  do  what  I 
like  with  ;  will  you  spend  them  for  me  in  prettj'  things 


46     Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women. 

for  my  new  home  which  I  can't  get  here  or  even  at 
Marseille?  While  shopping  for  yourself  think  of  the 
poor  recluse  at  La  Crampade ;  remember  that  I  have 
no  one  of  taste  in  Paris  to  make  my  purchases.  I  will 
answer  your  third  letter  very  soon. 


VI. 


DON  FELIPE  HENAREZ  TO  DON  FERNANDO. 

Paris,  September. 

The  date  of  my  letter  will  show  you,  my  dear  brother, 
that  the  head  of  your  house  is  no  longer  in  any  danger. 
If  the  massacre  of  our  ancestors  in  the  Court  of  Lions 
made  us  Spaniards  and  Christians  whether  we  would 
or  not,  at  any  rate  it  bequeathed  to  us  the  prudence  of 
Arabs ;  perhaps  I  now  owe  my  safety  to  the  blood  of 
the  Abencerrages  which  flows  in  my  veins. 

Fear  made  Ferdinand  VII.  so  good  a  comedian  that 
Valdes  believed  in  his  protestations.  If  it  had  not  been 
for  my  cautions,  the  poor  admiral  would  have  been 
lost.  The  liberals  will  never  learn  what  a  true  king  is. 
The  character  of  this  particular  Bourbon  has  been 
known  to  me  for  a  long  time ;  the  more  his  Majesty 
assured  us  of  his  favor,  the  more  I  distrusted  him.  A 
true  Spaniard  never  needs  to  repeat  his  promises. 
Whoso  says  much  means  to  deceive. 


Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women.     47 

Valdes  escaped  on  board  of  an  English  vessel.  As 
for  me,  as  soon  as  the  fortunes  of  my  dear  Spain  were 
lost  in  Andalusia,  I  wrote  to  the  bailiff  of  my  property 
in  Sardinia  to  provide  for  my  safety.  He  sent  some 
wily  coral-fishers  to  await  me  off  a  certain  point  of  the 
coast.  While  Ferdinand  was  exhorting  the  French  to 
make  sure  of  me,  I  had  safely  reached  my  estate  of 
Macumer,  and  was  living  in  the  midst  of  bandits  who 
defy  all  laws  and  perpetrate  all  vengeances.  The  head 
of  the  last  Spanish-Arabian  house  of  Grenada  found 
himself  in  deserts  equal  to  those  of  Africa,  and  mounted 
actually  upon  a  barb  in  the  great  domain  which  has 
descended  to  him  from  the  Saracens.  The  eyes  of  my 
bandits  shone  with  joy  and  savage  pride  when  they  dis- 
covered that  th^y  were  protecting  their  master,  the  Due 
de  Soria,  an  Henarez,  from  the  vengeance  of  the  king 
of  Spain.  I  am  the  first  of  our  family  who  has  visited 
the  island  since  the  daj's  when  it  belonged  to  our  ances- 
tors the  Moors.  Twenty-two  carbines  were  instantly 
offered  to  annihilate  Ferdinand  de  Bourbon,  son  of  a 
race  all  unknown  when  our  forefathers  the  Abencerrages 
came  as  conquerors  to  the  banks  of  the  Loire. 

I  expected  to  be  able  to  live  on  the  revenues  of  this 
great  domain,  which,  alas !  we  have  so  ill  cared  for ; 
but  I  soon  found  out  my  mistake  and  the  veracity  of 
Queverdo's  reports.  The  poor  man  has  twenty-two 
lives  of  men  at  my  service,  but  not  one  copper  farthing ; 


48     Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women. 

twent}^  thousand  acres  of  plain  and  meadow,  but  not 
a  dwelling ;  virgin  forests,  and  not  one  article  of  fur- 
niture. Six  million  of  francs  and  the  presence  of  a 
master  for  half  a  century  would  be  necessary  to  put 
these  magnificent  lands  to  any  profit.  I  shall,  however, 
think  about  it ;  refugees  have  plenty  of  time  to  think 
over  their  own  affairs  as  well  as  over  their  lost  cause. 

At  Marseille  I  heard  of  Riego's  death ;  the  painful 
thought  came  to  me  that  my  life,  too,  would  end  slowl}^, 
obscurel3%  in  just  such  a  martyrdom.  Will  it  be  living 
at  all  to  have  no  country  for  which  to  consecrate  my- 
self, no  beloved  woman  to  exist  for  ?  "  To  love  and  con- 
quer "  —  two  aspects  of  one  idea  —  was  the  law  graven 
on  our  sabres,  written  in  letters  of  gold  on  the  arches 
of  our  palaces,  sung  and  resung  incessantly  by  the 
plashing  waters  of  our  fountains  in  their  marble  basins, 
—  a  law  which  evermore  will  uselessly  incite  my  soul ; 
for  the  sabre  is  broken,  the  palace  in  ashes,  the  living 
waters  of  the  fountain  are  lost  in  the  sterile  sands. 

Here,  mj^  dear  brother,  is  my  last  will  and  testament. 
Obey  it.  You  will  now  see  why  I  restrained  your 
ardor  and  commanded  you  to  remain  faithful  to  the 
reigning  king.  As  3'our  friend  and  brother,  I  entreat 
you  to  obey  me ;  as  your  master  and  the  head  of  our 
bouse  I  command  it. 

Go  to  the  king  ;  demand  my  dignities,  my  property, 
my  duties,  and  my  titles.     He  may  shuffle  and  hesitate 


Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women.     49 

and  make  a  few  roj-al  grimaces  ;  but  you  must  tell  him 
that  you  love  and  are  beloved  by  Marie  Heredia,  and 
that  Marie  can  marry  none  but  the  Due  de  Soria. 
You  will  see  him  quiver  with  joy  when  you  tell  him 
that.  The  great  fortune  of  the  Heredias  would  have 
hindered  his  accomplishing  my  ruin  ;  but  if  you  step 
into  my  shoes  and  despoil  me  he  will  consent  joyfully. 

Yes,  you  must  marry  Marie  ;  I  discovered  the  secret 
of  your  mutual  love,  so  long  subdued.  I  have  already 
prepared  the  old  count  for  this  substitution.  Marie 
and  I  were  obeying  the  wishes  and  conventions  of  our 
parents.  You  are  handsome  as  a  child  of  love,  I  am 
ugly  as  a  grandee  of  Spain  ;  you  are  beloved,  I  was  the 
object  of  a  secret  repugnance  ;  you  will  soon  overcome 
the  resistance  that  a  sense  of  my  misfortunes  will  rouse 
against  j'ou  in  the  heart  of  that  noble  Spanish  woman. 

As  Marie's  own  jewels  can  replace  those  I  ask  for, 
send  me  my  mother's  diamonds,  which  will  suffice  to 
make  me  independent.  Send  them  by  my  foster-mother, 
old  Urraca,  the  only  one  of  my  household  I  wish  to 
retain.     She  alone  knows  how  to  make  my  chocolate. 

During  our  short  revolution  my  life  was  reduced  to 
the  necessaries  of  living.  You  will  therefore  find  the 
revenues  of  the  last  two  years  almost  intact  in  the  hands 
of  the  intendant.  That  sum  belongs  to  me,  but  as  the 
marriage  of  a  Due  de  Soria  will  occasion  great  expense, 
we  will  share  it.     You  won't  refuse  a  wedding-present 

4 


50     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women. 

from  your  brother,  the  bandit.    Besides,  I  choose  to 
make  it. 

The  barony  of  Macumer  being  in  Sardinia,  and  not 
under  the  rule  of  the  king  of  Spain,  I  keep  it,  and  it 
may  afford  me  a  country  and  a  name,  if,  by  chance,  the 
opportunity  is  given  me. 

God  be  thanked,  at  an}^  rate,  that  the  House  of  Soria 
is  safe. 

At  this  very  moment,  while  I  am  telling  you  that  I 
am  nothing  more  than  the  Baron  de  Macumer,  the 
French  cannon  are  announcing  the  return  of  the  Due 
d'Angoul§me.  You  will  easily  understand  why  I  inter- 
rupt my  letter, 

October. 

When  I  reached  Paris  I  had  scarcely  a  hundred 
francs  in  my  pocket.  A  statesman  seems  very  pett}^ 
when,  in  the  midst  of  great  catastrophes  which  he  has 
not  prevented,  he  thinks  of  his  selfish  interests.  The 
vanquished  Moors  had  horses  and  a  desert ;  Christians 
cheated  of  their  hopes  have  monasteries.  However, 
my  resignation  is  not  yet  despondency.  I  am  not  so 
near  a  convent  that  I  cease  to  dream  of  life.  Olzaga 
gave  me,  at  great  risk  to  himself,  letters  of  introduction, 
one  of  which  was  to  a  publisher  who  is  to  us  Spaniards 
what  Galignani  is  to  the  English.  He  has  obtained 
eight  scholars  for  me  at  three  francs  a  lesson.  I  go 
every  other  daj^  to  each  pupil,  so  that  I  give  four  lessons 


Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women,     51 

a  day  and  earn  twelve  francs  —  much  more  than  I  need 
for  my  dail}-  wants.  When  Urraca  arrives  with  the 
diamonds,  I  will  rejoice  the  heart  of  some  struggling 
Spaniard  by  handing  my  pupils  over  to  him.  I  live  in 
the  rue  Hillerin-Bertin,  with  a  poor  widow  who  takes 
boarders.  My  room  faces  south,  and  looks  into  a  little 
garden.  I  hear  no  noise,  I  see  verdure,  and  I  spend 
only  three  francs  a  day.  I  am  sometimes  quite  amazed 
at  the  calm,  pure  pleasure  I  take  in  this  life  of  Dionj^sius 
in  Corinth.  From  sunrise  till  ten  o'clock  I  smoke  and 
drink  my  chocolate,  sitting  at  my  window  and  watch- 
ing the  growth  of  two  Spanish  plants,  a  gorze  or  broom 
rising  from  a  tangle  of  jessamine,  gold  on  a  white  ground, 
an  image  that  will  ever  cause  a  scion  of  the  Moors  to 
quiver  with  emotion. 

At  ten  o'clock  I  start  upon  my  round  of  lessons, 
which  keeps  me  busy  until  four,  when  I  return  to  din- 
ner, and  smoke  and  read  till  I  go  to  bed.  I  could  live 
this  life  for  a  long  time.  I  like  this  mingling  of  work 
and  meditation,  solitude  and  intercourse  with  others. 

Therefore,  my  dear  Fernando,  be  satisfied  and  happy ; 
my  abdication  is  accomplished  without  one  backward 
longing ;  like  that  of  Charles  V.,  it  is  followed  by  no 
regret,  no  desire  like  that  of  Bonaparte  to  revive  the 
past.  Five  days  and  nights  have  passed  since  I  wrote 
my  last  testament,  but  five  centuries  of  thought  have 
elapsed  since  then.     Grandeur,  titles,  and  wealth  are 


52     Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women. 

to  me  as  though  they  had  never  been.  Now  that  the 
barrier  of  respect  between  us  has  necessarily  fallen,  I 
can  let  you  read  my  heart,  dear  brother.  That  heart, 
which  gravity  covers  with  an  imnenetrable  coat  of  mail, 
is  full  of  tenderness  and  unemplo3'ed  devotion  ;  but  no 
woman  ever  divined  this,  — not  even  she  who  from  her 
cradle  was  destined  to  be  my  wife.  There  lies  the 
secret  of  my  ardent  political  life.  Having  no  woman 
to  love,  I  loved  Spain.  Spain  too  has  eluded  me ! 
Now  that  I  am  nothing,  now  that  I  can  contemplate 
a  destroyed  myself^  I  ask  my  mind  why  life  came  to 
me  and  when  it  will  leave  me.  Why  has  a  race  of 
chivalry  par  excellence  given  its  earliest  virtues,  its 
Arab  love,  its  warm  poesy  to  its  last  scion  ?  Will  the 
seed  remain  within  its  horny  envelope  without  budding, 
without  shedding  its  eastern  perfume  from  some  radiant 
calix  ?  What  crime  have  I  committed  before  my  birth 
that  I  am  unable  to  inspire  love  in  the  hearts  of  others  ? 
Was  I,  from  the  day  I  was  born,  a  wreck  cast  up  on  a 
barren  shore?  I  find  in  my  soul  the  desert  of  my 
forefathers,  lighted  by  a  sun  that  scorches  but  enables 
nothing  to  grow  there.  Well,  I  will  still  be  proud  of 
my  fallen  race,  m}^  useless  vigor,  my  wasted  love,  —  old 
young  man  that  I  am  !  I  will  await  here  where  I  am, 
better  perhaps  than  elsewhere,  the  last  favor,  death. 
Alas !  beneath  these  foggy  skies  no  spark  can  ever 
fall  to  light   the   flame  of  my   smouldering    embers. 


Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women,     63 

My  last  words  must  needs  be  those  of  Jesus  Christ, 
—  ''My  God,  my  God!  why  hast  thou  abandoned 
me?"  Terrible  words,  the  depth  of  which  no  soul  has 
fathomed. 

Fernando,  believe  how  happy  I  am  in  living  in  you 
and  Marie  ;  I  shall  henceforth  look  upon  you  both  with 
the  pride  of  a  creator  glorying  in  his  work.  Love  each 
other  well,  and  always  ;  give  me  no  griefs  ;  dissensions 
between  you  would  do  more  harm  to  me  than  to  your- 
selves. Our  mother  foresaw  that  events  would  one  day 
fulfil  her  hopes.  Perhaps  a  mother's  desire  is  a  com- 
pact between  herself  and  God.  Besides,  methinks  she 
was  one  of  those  mysterious  beings  who  are  able  to 
communicate  with  heaven  and  bring  back  visions  of 
the  future.  Many  a  time  have  I  read  on  the  lines  of 
her  forehead  that  she  wished  for  Fernando  the  honors 
and  wealth  of  Felipe.  I  once  said  this  to  her;  she 
answered  me  with  tears,  betraying  the  struggles  of  a 
heart  that  should  have  been  equally  for  one  as  for  the 
other,  but  which  an  unconquerable  love  gave  wholly  to 
you.  Thus  her  spirit  will  hover  joj'fully  above  3'our 
heads  when  you  kneel  at  the  altar.  Ah  !  Donna  Clara, 
will  you  then  embrace  joxxy  Felipe  —  at  last?  See,  he 
yields  to  j^our  beloved  even  the  dear  j^oung  girl  3'ou 
regretfully  pushed  into  his  arms.  What  I  do  now  will 
be  pleasing  to  the  dead,  to  the  king ;  God  wills  it. 
Reject  nothing,  Fernando  ;  obey  me  and  keep  silence. 


54     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women. 

P.  S.  Tell  Urraca  to  call  me  only  Monsieur  Henarez. 
Say  not  a  word  about  me  to  Marie.  You  must  be  the 
only  living  being  to  know  the  secrets  of  this  Christian- 
ized Moor,  in  whose  veins  dies  the  blood  of  the  last 
great  family  of  the  desert  as  he  ends  his  days  in 
solitude.     Adieu. 


VII. 

LOUISE  DE   CHAULIEU  TO   RENl^E   DE   MAUCOMBE. 

'  January,  1824. 

What  !  married  so  hastily  ?  Is  that  how  one  ought 
to  choose  a  husband  ?  At  the  end  of  a  month  to  prom- 
ise yourself  to  a  man,  without  loving  him,  without 
really  knowing  anything  about  him !  He  may  be  deaf 
and  dumb,  —  there  are  a  dozen  ways  of  being  that !  he 
may  be  sickly,  disagreeable,  intolerable.  Oh,  Renee, 
don't  you  see  what  they  are  doing  with  3'OU?  you  are 
wanted  to  continue  the  glorious  house  of  I'Estorade, 
and  that's  the  whole  of  it.  You  will  become  a  mere 
provincial.  Are  these  the  promises  we  made  to  each 
other  ?  If  I  were  j^ou,  I  'd  rather  float  about  the  isles 
of  Hyeres  in  a  boat,  hoping  that  some  corsair  would 
capture  me  and  sell  me  to  the  Grand  Seignior;  at 
any  rate  I  should  be  a  sultana,  and  some  day  the 
Valide ;  I  should  turn  the  seraglio  upside  down  and 


Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Wo7nen.     55 

inside  out  as  long  as  I  was  3'Oimg,  and  after  I  was 
old,  too.  But  you,  j'ou  are  coming  out  of  one  con- 
vent to  go  into  another.  I  know  you ;  you  are  a 
coward,  and  you  are  just  letting  yourself  be  driven 
into  this  thing  with  the  meekness  of  a  lamb.  Come  to 
Paris ;  I  'II  give  3'ou  advice  ;  together  we  will  turn  men's 
heads  and  make  ourselves  queens.  Your  husband,  if 
you  reall}^  marr}^  him,  my  poor  darling,  might  make 
himself  a  deputy.  I  know  what  deputies  are  now,  and 
I  'd  explain  the  whole  mechanism  to  3'ou.  You  could 
play  that  instrument  very  well,  and  live  in  Paris  and 
become  a  fashionable  woman.  Oh,  I  warn  you,  I  shall 
not  let  you  stay  in  that  manor-house  with  the  cramped 
name. 

Monday. 
It  is  now  two  whole  weeks,  my  dearest,  that  I  have 
lived  the  life  of  the  world ;  one  night  Italian  opera, 
next  Grand  Opera,  and  after  them  a  ball.  Ah  !  society 
is  fairj'-land.  The  music  of  the  Italian  opera  enchants 
me,  and  while  my  soul  is  swimming  in  divinest  pleasure 
opera  glasses  are  levelled  at  me,  I  'm  admired  !  But, 
with  a  single  glance,  I  can  make  the  boldest  young 
man  lower  his  ej^es.  I  have  seen  a  number  of  charming 
ones,  and  3'et,  do  you  know,  not  one  pleases  me,  none 
has  given  me  an3'thing  like  the  emotion  I  feel  when 
hearing  Garcia  in  his  glorious  duet  with  Pellegrini  in 
"  Otello."     Good    heavens!    what  a  jealous   creature 


56     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women. 

Rossini  must  be  to  be  able  to  express  the  passion  of 
jealousy  like  that!  What  a  cry  it  is:  "II  mio  cor  si 
divide !  "  All  this  is  Greek  to  you,  for  you  have 
never  heard  Garcia;  but  you  know  what  a  jealous 
nature  mine  is.  Shakespeare  was  a  terribly  sad  dra- 
matist. Othello  lives  for  glory ;  he  wins  victories,  com- 
mands, parades,  reviews,  leaving  Desdemona  in  her 
corner ;  and  Desdemona,  who  sees  him  preferring  the 
stupidities  of  public  life  to  her  love,  doesn't  get  angry  ! 
Poor  sheep,  she  deserved  death.  Let  the  man  I  deign 
to  love  dare  to  do  aught  else  than  love  me !  For  my 
part  I  believe  in  the  long  probations  of  the  days  of  chiv- 
alry. I  consider  it  was  very  impertinent  and  very  silly 
of  that  3'oung  pupp}"  to  demur  when  his  sovereign  lady 
sent  him  to  fetch  her  glove  from  the  lion's  den ;  she 
was  reserving  for  him,  no  doubt,  some  dazzling  flower 
of  love,  which  he  lost  after  winning  it,  the  fool ! 

But  I  'm  chattering  on  as  if  I  had  n't  a  great  piece  of 
news  to  tell  3^ou  !  My  father  will  probably  be  sent  to 
represent  the  king  our  master  at  Madrid  ;  I  say  "  our  " 
master,  for  I  am  to  accompany  the  embassy.  My 
mother  prefers  to  stay  here ;  and  my  father  takes  me 
so  as  to  have  a  woman  about  him. 

My  dear,  this  may  seem  to  you  all  very  simple,  but 
there  is  something  under  it  which  it  has  taken  me  only 
fifteen  days  to  find  out.  My  mother  would  willingl}^ 
follow  my  father  to  Madrid,  if  he  could  take  with  him, 


Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women.     57 

as  secretary  to  the  embassy,  a  certain  Monsieur  de 
Canalis.  But  the  king  appoints  the  secretaries,  and 
the  duke  dares  neither  to  oppose  the  king,  who  is  very 
obstinate,  nor  annoy  my  mother ;  so  my  diplomatic 
parent  thinks  he  cuts  the  Gordian  knot  by  leaving  the 
duchess  behind  him.  Monsieur  de  Canalis,  the  great 
poet  of  the  day,  is  the  3'oung  man  who  cultivates  the 
society  of  my  mother,  and  studies  diplomacy  with  her 
daily  from  two  to  four  o'clock.  Diplomac}^  must  be  an 
interesting  matter,  for  he  is  as  faithful  in  his  attendance 
as  a  gambler  at  the  Bourse. 

Monsieur  le  Due  de  Rh^tore,  our  eldest,  solemn, 
cold,  and  queer,  also  stays  behind ;  he  would  be  crushed 
by  his  father  in  Madrid.  Miss  Griffith  says  he  is  in 
love  with  an  opera  dancer.  The  idea  of  loving  legs 
and  pirouettes !  I  have  remarked  that  he  goes  to  all 
the  plays  in  which  TuUia  (that's  her  name)  dances  ;  he 
applauds  all  her  steps  and  leaves  the  box  immediately 
after  she  has  danced  them.  As  to  my  second  brother, 
he  is  with  his  regiment,  and  I  have  not  ^^et  seen  him. 

So  that's  how  it  is  that  I  am  destined  to  play 
Antigone  to  an  ambassador  of  his  Majesty.  Perhaps  I 
shall  marry  in  Spain ;  and  perhaps  my  father  hopes  to 
marry  me  there  without  a  dowry,  just  as  you  are  being 
sacrificed  to  the  broken-down  exile.  My  father  himself 
proposed  to  take  me  with  him,  and  offered  me  his 
Spanish  teacher   to   prepare   me.     I    replied:    "You 


58     Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women. 

want  me  to  make  a  marriage  in  Spain,  —  that 's  your 
castle."  He  made  no  replj^,  but  he  gave  me  a  shrewd 
glance.  He  has  lately"  taken  to  teasing  me  at  break- 
fast ;  he  studies  me,  and  I  baffle  him.  He,  ambassador 
in  petto  though  he  be,  is  mj'stified  about  me.  I  am  sure 
he  has  been  taking  me  for  a  fool.  He  asked  me  what 
I  thought  of  a  certain  joung  man,  and  also  of  two 
or  three  young  ladies  whom  I  have  met  lately.  I 
answered  by  stupid  remarks  about  the  color  of  their 
hair,  the  difference  of  their  heights,  and  their  faces. 
M3'  father  seemed  disappointed  to  find  me  so  silly ;  he 
evidently  blamed  himself  for  having  questioned  me. 
*'  But  of  course,  father,"  I  added,  "  I  don't  say  what  I 
reall}^  think,  because  m}^  mother  lately  showed  me  the 
impropriet}"  of  speaking  my  mind."  "  In  your  own 
family  you  can  speak  without  restraint,"  observed  my 
mother.  '^  Well,  then,"  I  continued,  "  the  young  men 
seem  to  me  more  self-interested  than  interesting  ;  more 
occupied  with  themselves  than  with  us ;  and  they  can't, 
to  tell  the  truth,  disguise  it.  They  change  the  expres- 
sion of  countenance  they  put  on  when  speaking  to  us, 
instantl}',  and  imagine,  apparentlj^,  we  have  no  e3'es  to 
see  it.  When  they  speak  to  us  they  behave  like  lovers ; 
when  they  don't  speak,  like  husbands.  As  for  those 
young  ladies,  the}"  are  so  insincere  it  is  impossible  to 
tell  their  character  except  by  the  wa}"  the}^  dance ; 
their  shapes  and  movements  are  the  only  things  about 


Memoirs  of  Tivo  Yoimg  Married  Women.     59 

them  that  don't  deceive.  I  confess  I  have  been  fright- 
ened by  the  brutality  of  the  great  world.  Things 
happen  at  supper-time,  for  instance,  which  give  me  an 
idea  (of  course  in  due  proportion)  of  what  public  riots 
must  be.  Politeness  ver^'  imperfectly  conceals  the 
universal  selfishness.  I  certainlj'  did  expect  the  world 
to  be  very  different.  Women  count  for  little ;  per- 
haps that 's  the  result  of  Bonaparte's  doctrines." 
"  Armande  has  made  astonishing  progress,"  remarked 
my  mother.  "  Did  you  expect  me  to  be  always  asking 
for  Madame  de  Stael?"  I  said.  My  father  laughed 
and  went  out. 

Saturday. 
My  dear,  I  have  not  said  all.  Here  is  something  I 
keep  for  j'our  private  ear.  Love,  as  we  imagined  itj 
_must  be  most  carefully  hidden,  for  I  can't  see  a  trace 
j)f  it  anywhere.  It  is  true  I  have  intercepted  a  few 
glances  given  in  a  ball-room,  but  oh !  so  flat  and  mean- 
ingless I  Our  love  —  that  world  of  marvels,  of  glorious 
dreams,  of  dehghtful  realities,  pleasures  and  pains 
alternating,  smiles  illuminating  the  character,  words 
which  enchant,  happiness  ever  given,  ever  received,  the 
pangs  of  absence,  the  joys  bestowed  by  the  presence 
of  the  loved  one  —  of  all  that,  nothing !  nothing ! 
Where  and  how  did  those  splendid  flowers  of  the  soul 
come  into  being?  Who  deceived  us;  who  has  lied  to 
us,  —  the  world,  or  our  own  hearts?    I  have  seen  men, 


60     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women. 

young  men,  by  the  hundred,  and  not  one  of  them  is 
able  to  cause  me  the  slightest  emotion.  They  might 
show  me  admiration  and  devotion,  and  even  fight  for 
mj'  sake,  and  I  should  still  look  at  them  with  indiffer- 
ent eyes.  Love,  my  dearest,  has  one  strange  thing  about 
it,  a  rare  phenomenon :  we  may  live  all  our  life  with- 
out ever  meeting  the  being  to  whom  Nature  has 
assigned  the  power  of  making  us  happy.  That  reflec- 
tion makes  me  shudder ;  for  suppose  that  being  should 
arrive  too  late  !  —  what  can  3'ou  sa}-  to  that  ? 

For  the  last  few  days  I  have  begun  to  be  frightened 
about  our  destin}",  and  to  discover  why  the  women  that 
I  see  have  such  sad  faces  under  the  layer  of  vermilion 
which  the  false  joys  of  excitement  put  there.  They  all 
marry  hap-hazard  ;  that  is  how  3'ou  are  going  to  marry. 
A  perfect  storm  of  thoughts  has  been  rushing  through 
my  mind.  To  be  loved  every  day  and  all  days  in  the 
same  manner  and  j^et  differently,  to  be  loved  as  much 
after  ten  3'ears  of  happiness  as  the  first  da}',  —  such  a 
love  would  take  j^ears  to  produce ;  we  must  be  long 
desired,  we  must  awaken  many  curiosities  and  satisfy 
them  all,  excite  many  sympathies  and  respond  to 
them.  Can  there  be  laws  for  the  creations  of  the  soul, 
as  there  are  for  the  creations  of  nature  ?  Will  gladness 
maintain  itself?  In  what  proportion  must  the  joys  of 
love  be  mingled  with  tears?  The  cold  tenor  of  that 
funereal,  monotonous,  perpetual  convent  life  suddenly 


Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women.     61 

seemed  to  me  a  possibilit}^ ;  whereas  the  riches,  glories, 
tears,  delights,  the  fetes,  joys,  pleasures  of  an  equal, 
mutual,  and  sanctioned  love  sprang  up  before  me  as  an 
impossible  attainment.     I   see   no  place  in  this  great 


city  for  the  sweets  of  love,  —  for  its  sacred  walks  beside 
the  hedges,  with  the  moonlight  shining  on  the  waters 
and  our  hearts  resisting  entreaty.  Rich  and  young  and 
beautiful,  I  have  onl}^  to  love,  and  love  might  become 
my  life,  my  sole  occupation  ;  and  yet,  during  the  three 
months  that  I  have  passed  hither  and  thither  in  society 
with  impatient  eagerness  I  have  found  nothing  to  win 
me  in  the  brilliant,  keen,  and  greedy  looks  about  me. 
No  voice  has  stirred  my  heart,  no  eye  has  illuminated 
the  world  before  me.  Music  alone  has  satisfied  my 
soul ;  that  alone  has  been  to  me  what  our  friendship  is. 
Sometimes  I  sit  for  hours  at  m}'  window  at  night, 
gazing  at  the  garden,  summoning  events  from  the  hid- 
den sources  whence  they  come.  At  other  times  when  I 
drive  out  and  leave  my  carriage  to  walk  in  the  Champs- 
Elysees  I  fancy  that  the  hero  who  is  to  rouse  my  torpid 
soul  is  following  me  and  watching  me.  I  look  for  him, 
and  all  I  see  are  the  jugglers,  the  sellers  of  gingerbread, 
persons  hurrying  about  their  business,  lovers  trying  to 
evade  observation  ;  and  to  the  latter  I  want  to  say  :  "  You 
who  are  happy,  tell  me  what  love  is."  But  then  I 
check  these  foolish  thoughts  and  get  back  into  the 
carriage,  resolved  to  live  and  die  an  old  maid. 


62     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women. 

Love  is  certainly  an  incarnation ;  what  then  are  the 
conditions  necessary  to  bring  it  about?  We  are  not 
always  sure  of  being  in  harmony  with  ourselves ;  what 
would  it  be  if  we  were  two  ?  God  alone  can  solve  thaT 
problem.  I  begin  to  think  I  would  rather  go  back  to 
the  convent.  If  I  stay  in  the  world  I  shall  do  things 
that  are  very  like  follies,  for  it  is  impossible  for  me  to 
accept  what  I  see.  Everything  wounds  my  sensibilities, 
my  secret  thoughts,  the  ethics  of  my  soul.  Ah !  my 
mother  is  a  happy  woman ;  she  is  adored  by  her  great 
little  Canalis.  My  dear,  I  am  seized  sometimes  with  a 
horrible  curiosity  to  know  what  they  say  to  each  other 
during  those  two  hours. 

Griffith  says  she  has  gone  through  all  these  ideas  of 
mine ;  she  used  to  long  to  tear  the  eyes  out  of  the 
women  she  saw  happy,  and  to  scratch  and  vilify  them. 
According  to  her,  virtue  consists  in  burying  such 
savage  longings  in  the  depth  of  one's  heart  What  is 
the  depth  of  one's  heart?  A  reservoir  of  all  that  is  bad 
within  us? 

Well, I  am  much  humiliated  not  to  have  encountered, 
so  far,  an  adorer.  I  am  a  marriageable  girl,  but  I 
have  brothers  and  a  proud  family  and  touchy  parents. 
Ah!  if  that  is  what  deters  the  men  they  are  very 
cowardly.  The  r61e  of  Chimene  in  "  The  Cid  "  and  the 
Cid  himself  captivate  me.  What  a  glorious  play  it  is  ] 
Well,  well,  a  truce  to  all  this.    Adieu. 


Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women.     63 


VIIL 

SAME    TO   SAME. 

January. 
My  father  and  I  have  a  Spanish  teacher,  a  poor  refu- 
gee forced  to  escape  because  he  took  part  in  the  revolu- 
tion the  Due  d'Angouleme  went  to  Spain  to  suppress  ;  we 
owe  a  number  of  fine  fetes  to  that  triumph.  Though  a 
liberal,  and  doubtless  a  bourgeois,  this  man  interests  me. 
I  imagine  he  was  condemned  to  death,  and  I  have  tried 
to  make  him  talk,  so  as  to  learn  his  secrets.  But  he  's  as 
taciturn  as  a  Castilian  and  as  proud  as  Gonsalvo  de 
Cordova ;  though,  I  must  say,  he  is  gentle  too,  and  has 
angelic  patience ;  his  pride  is  not  in  arms  like  the 
Griffith's,  it  is  inward;  he  obtains  the  respect  that  is 
due  to  him  by  keeping  strictly  to  his  duty,  and  he  holds 
us  at  a  distance  by  the  ceremonious  respect  he  testifies 
to  us.  My  father  insists  that  there 's  a  good  deal  of  the 
grand  seigneur  about  Monsieur  Henarez,  whom  he  calls 
Don  Henarez  among  ourselves  by  way  of  a  joke. 
One  day  I  ventured  to  call  him  so  to  his  face.  He 
raised  his  ej'es  (which  he  usually  keeps  lowered)  and 
gave  me  a  lightning  glance  which  confused  me;  my 
dear,  he  has  the  most  beautiful  eyes  you.  ever  saw  !  I 
asked  him  if  I  had  offended  him  in  any  way ;  and  he 
replied  in  his  grandiose  Spanish  language  :  — 


64     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Wome^i. 

*'  Mademoiselle,  I  have  come  here  to  teach  you 
Spanish." 

I  own  I  was  ashamed  and  blushed.  I  was  going  to 
repl}'  with  some  choice  impertinence,  when  I  happened 
to  recollect  what  our  dear  mother  in  God  used  to  tell 
us;  so  I  answered,  — 

"  If  you  have  any  cause  to  complain  of  me  say  so ;  I 
shall  be  much  obliged  to  you." 

He  quivered ;  the  blood  rushed  to  his  olive  cheeks  as 
he  answered  with  gentle  emotion :  — 

''  Religion  must  have  taught  j^ou  better  than  I  can 
how  to  respect  misfortune.  If  I  were  indeed  a  grandee 
of  Spain  and  had  lost  my  all  through  the  triumph 
of  Ferdinand  VII.  your  jest  would  be  a  cruelty ;  but  if  I 
am  only  a  poor  teacher  of  languages  is  it  not  an 
untimely  sarcasm  ?  Neither  is  worthy  of  a  young  girl 
of  your  station." 

I  took  his  hand  and  said:  "I  invoke  your  religion 
and  ask  you  to  forget  the  wrong  I  have  done." 

He  bowed  his  head,  opened  my  '*  Don  Quixote,"  and 
sat  down  to  our  lesson. 

This  little  incident  upset  me  more  than  all  the  looks 
and  compliments  and  fine  phrases  I  have  received  since 
I  have  been  in  society.  During  the  lesson  I  watched 
this  man  attentively ;  he  seemed  to  be  unaware  that  I 
did  so ;  he  never  raised  his  eyes  to  look  at  me.  I  then 
discovered  that  this  master  of  ours,  whom  we  had  sup- 


Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women.     65 

posed  to  be  forty  years  old,  is  really  no  more  than 
twentj^-six  or  eight.  Miss  Griffith  made  me  take  notice 
of  the  beaut}'  of  his  black  hair,  and  also  of  his  teeth, 
■which  are  like  pearls.  As  for  his  eyes,  they  are  velvet 
and  fire  both.  With  these  exceptions  he  is  small  and 
ugl}'.  Spaniards  are  said  to  be  deficient  in  cleanUness, 
but  he  is  scrupulousl}'  nice  and  neat ;  his  hands  are 
whiter  than  his  face.  His  back  is  a  little  bent ;  his 
head  is  enormous,  of  a  queer  shape ;  his  ugliness, 
which  is  rather  spicy,  is  aggravated  by  pits  of  the 
small-pox  which  seam  his  face.  His  forehead  is  very 
prominent ;  his  eyebrows  meet  and  are  too  thick,  which 
gives  him  a  hard  look  repulsive  to  the  soul.  He  has 
the  sickl}^,  pinched  look  of  children  doomed  to  die,  but 
who  are  kept  alive  b}'  incessant  care,  like  Soeur  Marthe. 
My  father  says  he  is  a  miniature  likeness  of  Cardinal 
Ximenes. 

My  father  does  not  like  him,  and  is  always  ver}^  stiff 
in  his  presence.  His  manners  have  a  natural  dignity 
which  seems  to  make  the  dear  duke  uneas}',  for  he  can't 
endure  superiority  under  any  form  beside  him.  As 
soon  as  we  both  know  Spanish  we  are  to  start  for 
Madrid. 

Two  days  after  the  rebuff  Henarez  gave  me,  I  said, 
on  the  occasion  of  his  next  lesson,  hy  yvfxy  of  showing 
a  sort  of  gratitude :  *'  I  make  no  doubt  you  have  left 
Spain  on  account  of  political  events ;  if  my  father  is 

6 


66     Memoirs  of  Two  Yoimg  Married  Women. 

sent  there,  as  they  say  he  will  be,  we  shall  be  able  to 
render  you  some  service,  and  even  obtain  your  pardon 
if  3'ou  are  condemned  to  a  penalty." 

*'  It  is  not  in  the  power  of  any  one  to  do  me  a 
service,"  he  replied. 

"  Is  it  that  you  will  accept  none  ?  "  I  asked ;  "  or  is  it 
really  a  matter  of  impossibility  ?  " 

"  Both,"  he  replied  with  a  bow,  speaking  in  a  tone 
which  forced  me  to  keep  silence.  The  blood  of  my 
fathers  boiled  in  my  veins.  Such  pride  incensed  me, 
and  I  dropped  the  Sieur  Henarez  then  and  there. 

And  3'et,  my  dear,  there  is  something  fine  in  not 
accepting  anything  from  others.  "  He  won't  even  take 
our  friendship,"  I  kept  saying  to  myself  as  I  conjugated 
a  verb.  Then  I  stopped  short,  and  told  him  what  I 
was  thinking  —  in  Spanish.  Henarez  answered  very 
politely  that  all  such  sentiments  demanded  equality, 
which  could  not  exist  in  our  case,  and  therefore  it  was 
useless  to  discuss  it.  "  Do  you  mean  by  equality  reci- 
procity of  sentiment,  or  similarity'  of  rank?"  I  asked, 
determined  to  drag  him  out  of  a  coldness  which  irritated 
me.  He  raised  his  formidable  eyes,  and  I  was  forced 
to  lower  mine.  My  dear,  the  man  is  an  inexplicable 
enigma.  He  seemed  to  ask  me  if  my  words  were  a 
declaration ;  there  was  joy,  pride,  an  anguish  of  uncer- 
tainty in  his  look  which  wrung  my  heart.  I  saw  plainly 
that  these  little  coquetries,  which  mean  nothing  with 


Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women.     67 

Frenchmen,  are  liable  to  have  a  dangerous  significance 
to  Spaniards ;  I  retreated  into  my  shell,  feeling  rather 
foolish.  As  he  finished  the  lesson  and  took  his  leave 
he  gave  me  a  look  full  of  humble  entreaty.  *'  Do  not 
trifle  with  misfortune,"  it  seemed  to  ^ixy.  This  sudden 
contrast  with  his  hitherto  grave  and  cold  demeanor 
made  a  deep  impression  on  me.  It  is  horrible  to  think 
and  to  say,  but  I  believe  there  are  treasures  of  affection 
in  that  man. 


IX. 


MADAME    LA    VICOMTESSE    DE    l'eSTORADE    TO    MADEMOI- 
SELLE  DE   CHAULIEU. 

December. 

All  is  said  and  done,  dear  love ;  it  is  Madame  de 
FEstorade  who  writes  to  you  ;  but  nothing  is  changed 
between  us ;  there  is  onl}^  a  girl  the  less.  Don't  be 
troubled ;  I  thought  soberly  about  my  consent,  and  I 
did  not  give  it  heedlessly. 

My  life  is  now  mapped  out.  The  certainty  of  fol- 
lowing a  plain  high-road  suits  both  my  mind  and  my 
character.  A  great  moral  force  has  settled  forever 
what^we  used  to  call  the  chances  of  life.  My  husband 
and  I  have  an  estate  to  improve,  a  dwelling  to  beautifj' ; 
I  have  a  household  to  manage  and  render  cheerful,  and 


68     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women. 

an  unfortunate  man  to  reconcile  with  life.  No  doubt  1 
shall  also  have  a  family  to  care  for,  children  to  bring 
up.  Why  be  sorrj-,  dearest?  Ordinary  life  cannot  be 
a  grand  or  excessive  thing.  I  admit  that  those  immense 
desires  which  expand  both  soul  and  mind  do  not  enter 
into  a  contract  such  as  this,  —  at  least,  not  apparentlj^ 
Nevertheless,  I  do  not  think  that  the  humble  things  to 
which  I  shall  henceforth  devote  my  life  are  devoid  of 
passion.  The  task  of  making  a  poor  man^Jong  the 
plaything  of  misfortune,  believe  in  happiness  is  a  fine 
work,  and  will  suffice  to  relieve  the  monotony  of  my 
existence.  I  see  no  ground  for  suffering,  but  I  do  see 
the  chance  of  doing  much  good. 

Between  you  and  me,  I  do  not  love  Louis  de  PEsto- 
rade  with  the  sort  of  love  which  makes  the  heart  beat 
fast  when  we  hear  a  step,  which  stirs  us  to  our  centre 
at  the  tone  of  a  voice,  or  the  glance  of  an  eye ;  but 
neither  is  he  displeasing  to  me.  What  will  I  do  —  I 
hear  you  ask  —  with  that  instinct  for  things  sublime, 
with  those  strong  and  stirring  thoughts  which  bind  you 
and  me  together  and  are  a  part  of  ourselves?  Yes,  I 
admit  I  have  considered  that.  Dearest,  it  will  be  a  great 
thing  still  to  keep  those  powers  hidden  in  our  hearts, 
to  emploj'  them  silently  for  the  good  of  the  family,  to 
make  them  the  means  of  happiness  to  beings  entrusted 
to  us  and  to  whom  we  owe  our  highest  selves.  Even 
so,  the  period  at  which  such  faculties  are  at  their  best 


Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women.     69 

is  limited  in  women ;  when  passed,  I  shall  look  back 
and  see  that  my  life,  though  not  grand,  will  have  been 
calm,  eyenj  and^without  painful  vicissitudes. 

We  are  born  to  privileges ;  we  can  choose  between 
love  and  motherhood.  Well,  I  have  chosen ;  I  shall 
make  m}'  gods  my  children,  and  find  my  el3'sium  in  this 
corner  of  the  earth. 

That  is  all  that  I  can  tell  3'ou  to-day.  I  thank  you 
for  the  pretty  things  you  have  sent  me.  Give  your 
capable  eye  to  a  further  list  of  commissions,  which  I 
enclose.  I  wish  to  live  in  an  atmosphere  of  luxur^^  and 
elegance,  and  to  get  as  little  as  I  can  in  the  provinces. 
You  complain  that  I  shall  grow  provincial.  No,  by 
living  in  solitude  a  woman  remains  herself,  and 
does  not  take  the  color  of  her  surroundings.     I  count 


on  3'ou  to  keep  me  informed  as  to  the  fashions.  In 
his  enthusiasm  over  the  marriage,  my  father-in-law 
denies  me  nothing ;  he  is  pulling  the  house  to  pieces ; 
it  is  full  of  workmen  from  Paris  who  are  modernizing 
everything. 

X. 

MADEMOISELLE  DE  CHAULIEU  TO  MADAME  DE  l'eSTORADE. 

January. 
Oh,  Renee  !  you  have  saddened  me  for  days.    Can  it 
i        be  that  all  that  beauty,  that  proud  and  noble   face, 


70     Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women. 

those  naturally  elegant  manners,  that  soul  full  of 
precious  gifts,  those  eyes  in  which  our  souls  may  slake 
their  thirst  in  springs  of  love,  that  heart  brimming 
over  with  exquisite  delicacj',  that  broad,  clear  mind, 
all,  all  those  rare  faculties,  those  triumphs  of  nature 
and  of  our  mutual  education,  —  treasures  from  whlcH 
should  issue,  for  passion  and  for  love,  choice  riches, 
poems,  hours  as  full  as  years,  pleasures  to  enslave  a 
man,  —  all,  all,  all  are  to  be  lost  in  a  vulgar,  common 
marriage^ lost  in  the  vacancy  of  a  life  which  will  soon 
become  irksome  to  you?  I  hate  the  children  you  are 
going  to  have;    they'll  be  ill-formed.     Everything  is 


mapped  out  and  foreseen  in  such  a  life ;  you  41  have 
nothing  to  hope,  or  fear,  or  suffer.  And  suppose  you 
meet,  some  glorious  day,  a  being  who  awakens  you 
from  the  sleep  into  which  you  are  going?  Ah,  I  have 
a  cold  chill  down  my  back  at  the  very  thought. 

Well,  well,  at  any  rate  you  have  a  friend ;  and  no 
doubt  you  '11  be  the  spirit  of  that  vallej^ ;  you  will  bathe 
in  its  beauties,  j^ou  will  live  with  Nature,  3'ou  will  pen- 
etrate into  the  grandeur  of  her  things,  into  the  slowness 
of  vegetation  and  the  rapidity  of  thought,  and  then  — 
as  you  gaze  at  3'our  smiling  flowers  you  will  he  forced 


to  question  3'ourself.  I  know  beforehand  what  you  will 
write  to  me  when  you  are  going  along  your  straight 
road,  with  a  husband  before  and  3^our  children  behind 
you,  one  in  silence    with   a   satisfied   air,   the   others 


Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women.     71 

screeching  and  tumbling  about.  Your  mistj^  valley 
with  its  hillsides  bare  or  shaded  with  trees,  your  sin- 
gular Provence  meadows  threaded  with  brooklets  of 
transparent  water,  the  many  tones  the  light  takes  on, 
—  all  this  infinitude  about  you,  varied  hy  God  himself, 
will  force  you  to  think  of  the  contrasting  monotony  of 
your  life.  Then,  my  Renee,  remember,  I  am  here  ;  j^ou 
will  ever  have  a  friend  whose  heart  is  untouched  by 
social  pettiness,  a  heart  that  is  all  jour  own. 

Monday. 

Dearest,  my  Spaniard  is  delightfully  melancholy; 
there  is  something  about  him,  I  don't  know  what  it  is, 
80  calm,  austere,  dignified,  profound,  that  I  must  own 
he  interests  me  exceedingly.  The  solemnity  and  silence 
in  which  he  wraps  himself  is  enticing  to  the  soul.  He 
is  mute  and  superb  like  a  dethroned  king.  Griffith 
and  I  study  him  like  a  riddle.  How  very  queer !  a 
teacher  of  languages  actually  gets  more  hold  upon  my 
thoughts  than  any  other  man  has  been  able  to  obtain  ; 
and  yet  I  have  passed  in  review  all  the  sons  of  great 
families,  attaches  to  embassies  and  ambassadors  them- 
selves, generals  and  sub-lieutenants,  peers  of  France, 
their  sons  and  nephews,  the  court  and  society ! 

The  man*s  coldness  is  irritating.  The  haughtiest 
pride  fills  the  space  he  chooses  to  keep  between  himself 
and  us;  he  wrapshimself,_as  it   were,   in  obscurity. 


72    Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women. 

He  is  the  one  who  coquets  ;  I  'm  the  daring  one.  This 
curious  reversal  amuses  me  all  the  more  because  it  can 
have  no  consequences.  What  is  a  man,  a  Spaniard,  a 
teacher?  I  don't  feel  the  slightest  respect  for  any  man 
whatever,  be  it  the  king  himself.  I  think  women  are 
worth  much  more  than  men,  even  the  most  distin- 
guished men.  Oh  !  how  I  would  have  ruled  Napoleon  ! 
I  'd  have  made  him  feel,  if  he  loyedme^hat  he  moved 
by  mj  will. 

Yesterday  I  said  a  satirical  thing  which  must  have 
cut  teacher  Henarez  to  the  quick.  He  said  nothing ; 
the  lesson  was  just  over ;  he  took  his  hat,  bowed,  and 
gave  me  a  look  which  makes  me  think  he  will  never 
come  back  any  more.  I  like  that;  there  would  be 
something  dangerous  in  playing  a  second  edition  of 
"  La  Nouvelle  Heloise,"  by  Jean  Jacques  Rousseau.  I 
have  just  read  that  book,  and  it  has  made  me  take  a 
positive  hatred  to  love.  A  discussing  and  speechifying 
love,  I  think  intolerable.  Clarissa,  too,  she  is  a  great 
deal  too  self-satisfied  when  she  has  written  that  long 
little  letter  of  hers  ;  but  Richardson's  work  is  a  capital 
explanation,  so  my  father  says,  of  Englishwomen. 
Rousseau's  seems  to  me  a  philosophical  sermon  in 
epistles. 

Love,  to  my  mind,  is  a  poem  entirely  personal.  All 
that  writers  tell  us  about  it  is  both  true  and  false.  The 
fact  is,  my  dear  darling,  now  that  you  will  know  noth- 


Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women.     73 

ing  but  humdrum  love,  I  shall  be  obliged,  in  the  inter- 
ests of  our  mutual  existence,  to  remain  unmarried  and 
have  some  grand  passion,  or  how  will  3"0u  and  I  ever 
know  life? 

Write  me  exactly  all  that  happens  to  yo\x,  especially 
during  the  first  days  you  spend  with  that  animal  called 
a  husband.  I  '11  promise  the  same  if  any  man  loves 
me.    Adieu,  poor;  dear,  gobbled-up  darling. 


XL 

MADAME  DE  l'eSTORADE  TO  MADEMOISELLE  DE  CHAULIEU. 

La  Crampade. 
You  and  3'our  Spaniard,  dearest,  make  me  shudder. 
I  write  these  few  lines  to  beg  3^ou  to  dismiss  him.  All 
you  tell  me  reveals  one  of  those  dangerous  characters 
who,  having  nothing  to  lose,  risk  all.  The  man  ought 
not  to  be  your  lover,  and  he  can't  be  your  husband.  I 
will  write  3'ou  in  detail  about  my  marriage  when  I 
feel  less  anxiety  than  your  last  letter  has  caused  me. 


74     Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women. 


XIL 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  CHAULIEU  TO  MADAME  DE  L  ESTORADE. 

February. 

Dearest,  this  morning,  at  nine  o'clock,  my  father 
sent  to  say  he  would  pay  me  a  visit.  I  was  up  and 
dressed,  and  I  found  him  solemnly  seated  by  the  fire  in 
my  salon,  far  more  grave  and  thoughtful  than  is  his 
wont.  He  pointed  to  the  sofa  opposite  to  him ;  I 
understood  his  gesture  and  seated  myself  with  a  gravity 
which  mimicked  his  so  closely  that  he  began  to  smile, 
though  the  smile  itself  was  gravely  sad. 

"  You  are  as  clever  as  your  grandmother,"  he  began. 

"  Now,  father,  don't  play  the  courtier  here,"  I  an- 
swered, laughing.  "  You  have  something  you  want  to 
ask  of  me." 

He  rose  from  his  seat  in  much  agitation  and  talked 
to  me  for  half  an  hour.  This  conversation,  my  dear, 
is  worthy  of  preservation.  As  soon  as  he  left  me  I  sat 
down  at  my  writing-table  and  tried  to  make  a  record  of 
every  word.  It  is  the  first  time  I  have  known  m3' 
father  to  speak  out  all  his  thought. 

He  began  by  flattering  me,  and  did  it  very  well ;  I 
could  not  help  feeling  grateful  for  being  understood 
and  appreciated. 

^'Armande,"  he  said,  "I  was  strangely  mistaken 
about  you,  and  now  I  am  agreeably  surprised.     When 


Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women.     75 

3'ou  returned  from  the  convent  I  took  yow.  for  a  girl 
like  other  girls,  without  any  particular  capacity,  quite 
ignorant,  reflecting  little,  and  easj^  to  please  with  trin- 
kets and  gowns." 

*' Thank  you,  father,  in  the  name  of  Girlhood,"  I 
said. 

"Oh!"  he  said,  with  the  gesture  of  a  statesman, 
''  there  is  no  such  thing  as  real  girlhood  in  these  days. 
But  as  for  you,  j'ou  have  an  enlightened  mind ;  you 
judge  all  things  for  what  they  are  worth ;  yoMX  clear- 
sightedness is  quite  remarkable.     You  are  ver}"  satiri- 


cal ;  3'ou  seem  to  see  nothing,  but  3'Ou  do  see  even  the 
causes  of  the  effects  other  people  are  examining.     You 


are  a  minister  in  petticoats  ;  there  is  no  one  here  but  3'OU 
who  can  understand  what  I  am  going  to  say  to  j^ou. 
I  can  therefore  only  employ  you  against  yourself  in  the 
matter  of  a  sacrifice  I  am  about  to  ask  of  you.  I  shall 
explain  to  you  frankly  the  plans  I  have  long  formed, 
and  in  which  I  still  persist.  In  order  to  make  you 
yield  to  them,  I  must  prove  to  you  that  they  are  the 
outcome  of  noble  sentiments.  I  feel  myself  obliged  to 
lay  before  you  political  considerations  of  the  highest 
interest  for  the  kingdom,  which  would  simply  seem  tire- 
some to  any  other  young  girl.  After  hearing  what  I 
have  to  say  you  shall  have  time  for  reflection ;  I  will 
give  you  six  months  if  you  desire  it.  You  are  absolute 
mistress  of  yourself;  if  you  refuse  the  sacrifice  I  am 


76     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women. 

about  to  ask  of  you  I  shall  submit  to  your  decision  and 
say  no  more." 

This  exordium,  my  dearest,  made  me  really  serious, 
and  I  said  to  him,  '*  Go  on,  father." 

Now,  here  are  the  exact  words  of  which  the  states- 
man delivered  himself:  — 

"  M}^  child,  France  is  in  a  precarious  situation, 
known  only  to  the  king  and  a  few  of  the  leading  minds. 
But  the  king  is  a  head  without  arms;  the  leading 
minds  who  know  the  secret  danger  have  no  authority 
over  the  men  who  could  avert  it  and  bring  about  better 
things.  These  men,  the  result  of  popular  elections, 
cannot  be  made  instruments.  Remarkable  as  many  of 
them  are,  they  are  only  continuing  the  work  of  social 
destruction  ;  they  will  not  help  us  in  strengthening  the 
edifice.  In  a  word,  there  are  now  but  two  parties  in 
the  State,  —  that  of  Sylla,  and  that  of  Marius  ;  I  am  for 
Sylla  against  Marius.  That 's  the  outline  of  the  mat- 
ter. Coming  to  particulars,  the  Revolution  continues ; 
it  is  implanted  in  the  law,  it  is  written  on  the  soil,  it  is 
fixed  in  all  minds ;  it  is  the  more  formidable  because 
the  greater  number  of  the  king's  supporters,  who  see 
that  it  has  neither  soldiers  nor  money,  think  it  van- 
quished. The  king  has  a  great  mind  ;  he  sees  clearly  ; 
but  he  is  over-persuaded  day  after  day  by  the  followers 
of  his  brother,  who  go  too  fast ;  he  has  not  two  years 
to  live,  and  he  wants  to  die  in  peace.     Do  3'ou  know, 


Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women.     77 

my  dear  girl,  what  has  really  been  the  most  destructive 
effect  of  the  Revolution  ?  You  probably  never  thought 
of  it.  In  cutting  oflE"  the  king's  head  the  Revolution 
cut  off  the  heads  of  all  fathers  of  families.  The  Family 
no  longer  exists  ;  we  have  nothing  but  individuals.  In 
seeking  to  become  a  nation,  France  has  ceased  to  be  an 
empire.  By  proclaiming  equality  in  the  inheritance  of 
patrimony  the  spirit  of  Family  has  been  destroyed; 
public  finances  have  been  created;  and  so  the  way 
has  been  opened  to  feebleness  among  the  leaders, 
brute  force  among  the  masses,  the  extinction  of  the 
arts,  the  reign  of  individual  interests.  We  are  now 
between  two  systems :  either  the  State  must  be  con- 
stituted through  the  Family,  or  it  must  be  constituted 
on  personal  interests ;  democracy  or  aristocracy,  dis- 
cussion or  obedience,  Catholicism  or  religious  indiffer- 
ence, —  there  's  the  question  in  a  nut-shell.  I  belong 
to  the  small  number  of  those  who  wish  to  resist  what  is 
called  the  people,  —  in  the  people's  interest,  be  it  under- 
stood. It  is  no  longer  a  question  of  feudal  rights,  as 
fools  declare,  nor  of  the  rights  of  the  nobility ;  it  is  a 
question  of  the  safety  of  the  State,  of  the  very  life  of 
France.  The  existence  of  any  nation  not  based  on  the 
paternal  power  has  no  security.  That  power  is  the  first 
rung  in  the  ladder  of  responsibility  and  subordination 
which  leads  up  to  the  king.  The  king  is  the  countrj-, 
the  country,  ourselves  ;  to  die  for  the  king  is  to  die  for 


78     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women. 

ourselves,  for  our  Family,  which  can  no  more  die  than 
the  kingdom  dies.  Every  animal  has  its  instinct ;  the 
instinct  of  man  is  the  spirit  of  famih%  A  country  is 
strong  when  it  is  composed  of  rich  families,  all  of 
whose  members  are  interested  in  the  defence  of  the 
common  wealth,  —  be  it  money,  glor)",  privileges,  or 
enjoyments  ;  it  is  weak  when  it  is  composed  of  individ- 
uals held  to  no  solidarit}',  to  whom  it  signifies  little 
whether  they  obey  seven  men  or  one,  a  Kussian  or  a 
Corsican,  provided  they  are  each  individually  allowed 
to  keep  their  bit  of  land  ;  and  these  selfish  fools  don't 
see  that  it  is  certain  to  be  eventually  taken  from  them  ! 
We  are  hurrying  to  a  dreadful  state  of  things,  in  case  of 
failure.  We  shall  soon  have  none  but  penal  or  fiscal 
laws,  —  3'our  mone}^  or  your  life  !  The  most  generous 
nation  on  this  earth  will  soon  cease  to  be  led  by  noble 
sentiments.  We  shall  ourselves  have  made  and  de- 
veloped incurable  wounds  in  our  own  body,  —  for 
instance,  universal  jealousy ;  the  upper  classes  will 
soon  be  indistinguishable ;  equality  of  wants  and  de- 
sires will  be  mistaken  for  equality  of  powers  ;  recog- 
nized capacity,  true  superiority  will  be  swept  under  by 
an  invading  flood  of  bourgeoisie.  It  was  possible  to 
select  one  man  among  a  thousand,  but  how  can  3'ou 
find  him  among  three  million  similar  ambitions,  all 
clothed  with  the  same  livery, — that  of  mediocrity? 
This  triumphant  mass  of  the  bourgeoisie  does  not  per- 


Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women.     79 

ceive  that  it  will  have  against  it  another  terrible  mass, 
—  that  of  the  peasant-proprietors ;  twenty  millions  of 
living  acres,  walking,  talking,  comprehending  nothing 
but  wanting  all  the  more,  barricading  every  avenue  and 
controlling  the  brute  force  of  the  nation." 

"But,"  I  said,  interrupting  m}^  father,  "what  can  I 
do  for  the  State  ?  I  feel  no  inclination  to  be  the  Joan 
of  Arc  of  families,  and  die  by  slow  fire  at  the  stake  of  a 
convent." 

"  You  are  a  little  pest,"  he  replied.  "  When  I  talk 
sense  you  reply  with  a  jest ;  when  I  jest  you  talk  to 
me  as  if  3'ou  were  an  ambassador  jourself." 

"  Love  lives  on  contradictions,"  I  said. 

He  laughed.  *'  Think  over  what  I  have  now  said  to 
you,"  he  continued.  "You  will  observe  how  much 
confidence  and  even  grandeur  there  is  in  my  speaking 
to  3'ou  thus  frankly ;  and  perhaps  events  may  still 
further  help  my  projects.  I  know  very  well  that 
toward  3^ou  those  projects  are  unjust  and  injurious  ; 
consequentl}^  I  ask  your  consent  to  them  less  from 
your  heart  and  3'our  imagination  than  from  your  reason. 
I  see  in  y^ou  more  reason  and  good  sense  than  I  have 
met  with  in  others,  I  don't  care  who  they  are." 

"You  flatter  3'ourself,"  I  said,  laughing;  "for  re- 
member, I  am  3'our  child." 

"Well,"  he  continued,  "I  cannot  be  inconsistent; 
whoso  desires  an  end  must  take  the  means  to  it.     We 


80     Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women. 

owe  an  example  to  others.  You  ought  not  to  have  a 
fortune  until  that  of  your  younger  brother  is  assured. 
I  wish  to  employ  all  your  capital  in  providing  an 
entailed  estate  and  title  for  him." 

**  But,"  I  said,  "  if  I  resign  my  fortune  to  you,  I  hope 
you  will  not  prevent  me  from  living  as  I  please  and 
making  myself  happy  in  my  own  wa}'  ?  " 

**  Provided,"  he  answered,  *'that  the  life  you  choose 
to  lead  does  not  in  any  way  detract  from  the  honor,  the 
consideration,  and  I  may  sa}',  the  glory  of  your  family." 

*'  Well,  well !  "  I  cried,  "  3'ou  are  depriving  me  rather 
quickly  of  the  reason  and  good  sense  you  gave  me  just 
now." 

*'  There  is  no  such  thing  to  be  found  in  France,"  he 
said,  rather  bitterly,  "  as  a  man  of  station  willing  to 
marry  a  girl  of  high  rank  without  fortune,  and  to  settle 
a  dowry  upon  her.  If  such  a  man  could  be  found  he 
would  belong  to  the  class  of  upstart  bourgeoisie,  and 
my  views  on  that  subject  are,  I  confess,  of  the  eleventh 
century." 

"  So  are  mine,"  I  said ;  "  but  why  be  so  discouraging  ? 
There  must  be  some  old  peers  of  France  to  be  had." 

*'  Louise,"  he  cried,  "  you  know  too  much  !  " 

Then  he  kissed  my  hand  and  left  me,  smiling. 

Monday. 
I  received  your  short  letter  that  same  morning,  and 
it  has  made  me  think  seriously  of  the  abyss  into  which 


Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women.     81 

3"ou  evidently  think  I  am  about  to  fall.  A  voice  seems 
to  cr}^  within  me,  ^^  You  will  fall ! "  so  I  have  deter- 
mined to  take  precautions.  Henarez  has  ventured  to 
look  at  me,  m}^  dear,  and  his  eyes  trouble  me ;  they 
produce  a  sensation  which  I  can  only  compare  to  that 
of  terror.  I  can't  look  at  that  man  an}'  more  than  I 
can  at  a  toad  ;  he  is  ugly  —  and  fascinating. 

For  the  last  two  days  I  have  been  deliberating 
whether  I  shall  tell  my  father  plainly  that  I  do  not  wish 
to  learn  Spanish,  and  so  get  rid  of  Henarez  ;  but  then, 
after  stern  resolutions  on  the  subject,  I  feel  a  desire  to 
be  stirred  by  the  horrible  sensations  I  have  on  seeing 
him,  and  I  saj'  to  myself,  "Once  more,  and  then  I'll 
send  him  away."  My  dear,  his  voicejias  such  a  pene-^ 
trating  sweetness !  he  speaks  as  Fodor  sings.  His 
manners  are  simple,  without  the  slightest  affectation. 
And  oh,  such  beautiful  teeth !  Just  now,  as  he  left  me, 
he  seemed  to  notice  how  much  he  interested  me,  and  he 
made  a  motion  —  a  very  respectful  one  —  to  take  my 
hand  to  kiss  it ;  but  he  repressed  the  impulse  instantly, 
as  if  frightened  by  his  own  boldness  or  the  distance  he 
was  about  to  cross.  Little  as  it  was,  I  saw  the  whole 
thing  and  I  smiled  ;  for  nothing  is  more  touching  than  to 
see  the  impulse  of  a  socially  inferior  nature  driven  back 
upon  itself.  There  is  so  much  audacity  in  the  love  of 
a  bourgeois  for  a  girl  of  rank  !  My  smile  emboldened 
him  ;  the  poor  man  looked  for  his  hat  and  either  could 

6 


82     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women. 

not  or  would  not  find  it,  so  I  veiy  gravely  gave  it  to 
him.  Tears  moistened  his  e3'es.  There  was  a  whole 
world  of  things  and  thoughts  in  that  short  moment. 
We  understood  each  other  so  well  that  the  idea  came 
to  me  to  give  him  my  hand  to  kiss.  Perhaps  it  was  as 
good  as  telling  him  that  love  might  cross  the  space 
between  us.  Well,  I  don't  know  what  made  me  do  it ; 
Griffith's  back  was  turned,  and  I  did  hold  out  to  him, 
proudlj^  enough,  m}^  little  white  paw,  and  then  —  I  felt 
the  fire  of  his  lips,  softened  by  tears  that  fell  from  his 
eyes.  Ah !  my  angel,  I  sat  quite  still  and  strengthless 
in  my  chair,  thoughtful  —  I  was  happy;  but  it  is  im- 
possible to  explain  how  or  why.  What  I  felt  was 
poesy,  a  poem.  ISILy  abasement,  of  which  I  am  now 
ashamed,  seemed  to  me  grandeur,  jle  had  fascinated 
mejthat's  my  excuse. 

Friday. 
He  is  really  very  handsome.  His  language  is  ele- 
gant ;  his  mind  is  one  of  remarkable  superiority.  My 
dearest,  he  is  as  learned  and  logical  as  Bossuet  when 
explaining  to  me  the  mechanism  of  not  onl}^  the  Spanish 
language,  but  the  action  of  human  thought  on  all  lan- 
guages. French  seems  to  be  his  mother-tongue. 
When  I  showed  my  surprise  at  this,  he  told  me  that  he 
came  to  France  with  the  king  of  Spain  when  very 
yoimg,  and  stayed  at  ValenQa^*. 


Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women.     83 

What  a  change  has  taken  place  in  his  soul !  He  is 
no  longer  the  same  man.  He  now  comes  simply 
dressed,  but  exactl}'  as  a  grand  seigneur  should  be 
when  he  goes  out  on  foot  in  the  morning.  His  wit 
shines  like  a  beacon-light  throughout  the  lesson  ;  he 
displa3'S  great  eloquence.  Like  a  weary  man  who  has 
suddenly  recovered  strength,  he  has  betrayed  a  soul 
hitherto  hidden.  He  told  me  the  story  of  a  poor  foot- 
man who  let  himself  be  killed  merely  to  obtain  one  look 
from  a  queen  of  Spain.  "What  else  could  he  do  but 
die  ?  "  I  said.  That  answer  seemed  to  fill  his  heart  with 
joy,  and  his  eyes  positively  frightened  me. 

That  evening  I  went  to  a  ball  at  the  Duchesse  de 
Lenoncourt's.  The  Prince  de  Talleyrand  was  there. 
I  asked  Monsieur  de  Vandenesse  (a  charming  young 
man)  to  inquire  of  the  prince  whether  he  had  received 
an  Henarez  among  his  guests  at  ValenQaj^,  in  1809. 
Henarez,  it  appears,  is  the  Moorish  name  of  the  Soria 
family,  who  were,  they  say,  originally  Abencerrages 
converted  to  Christianity.  The  old  duke  and  his  two 
sons  accompanied  Ferdinand  VII.  into  exile.  The 
eldest  son,  the  present  Due  de  Soria,  has  just  been 
deprived  of  all  property,  titles,  and  honors  by  the  king 
on  account  of  some  private  animosit}^  The  ostensible 
cause  was  that  the  duke  committed  the  immense  mis- 
take of  accepting  a  constitutional  ministry  under 
Yaldez.     Luckily,  he  escaped  from  Cadiz  before   the 


84     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women. 

entry  of  Monseigneur  le  Due  d'Angouleme,  who,  in 
spite  of  his  good-will,  could  not  have  saved  him  from 
the  anger  of  the  king. 

All  this,  which  the  Vicomte  de  Vandenesse  repeated 
to  me  verbatim  from  the  lips  of  the  Prince  de  Talle}-- 
rand,  gave  me  much  to  think  about.  I  can't  tell  j'ou 
with  what  anxiety  I  awaited  my  next  lesson,  which 
took  place  this  morning.  During  the  first  quarter  of 
an  hour  I  examined  Henarez,  asking  myself  whether  he 
were  duke  or  bourgeois,  without  coming  to  an}^  conclu- 
sion. He  seemed  to  guess  my  thoughts  as  they  rose, 
and  to  take  pleasure  in  baffling  them. 

At  last  I  could  stand  it  no  longer;  I  shut  up  the 
book  hastily,  stopped  the  translation  that  I  was  making 
aloud,  and  said  to  him  in  Spanish  :  "  You  are  deceiving 
us,  monsieur ;  3'ou  are  not  a  poor  bourgeois  refugee ; 
you  are  the  Due  de  Soria." 

"  Mademoiselle,"  he  answered  in  a  sad  tone,  "  Un- 
happily for  me,  I  am  not  the  Due  de  Soria." 

I  understood  the  despair  he  put  into  those  words, 
"  unhappily  for  me."  Ah !  my  dearest,  I  defy  any 
other  man  to  put  so  much  passion  and  so  many  things 
into  three  short  words.  He  lowered  his  ej'es  and  dared 
not  look  at  me. 

*'  Monsieur  de  Talleyrand,"  I  said,  ''  in  whose  house 
you  spent  those  years  of  exile,  declares  that  there  is  no 
alternative  for  an  Henarez,  —  he  must  either  be  the  Due 
de  Soria  lately  exiled  again,  or  a  servant  of  the  family." 


Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women.     85 

He  raised  his  head  and  showed  me  two  black  and 
glowing  e3'es,  flaming  with  pride  and  yet  humiliated ; 
the  man  seemed  to  me  in  torture. 

"My  father  was  in  truth  a  servant  of  the  king  of 
Spain,"  he  said. 

Griffith  did  n*t  understand  this  way  of  studying ;  long 
pauses  occurred  between  each  question  and  answer. 
At  last  I  said  point-blank  :  — 

"  Are  you  noble  or  bourgeois?  " 

"  You  are  doubtless  aware,  mademoiselle,  that  every- 
body in  Spain,  even  the  beggars,  are  noble." 

Such  caution  made  me  impatient.  Since  my  last 
lesson  I  had  written  a  composition  in  which  my  imag- 
ination had  amused  itself.  It  was  in  the  form  of  a 
letter  from  a  friend,  and  in  it  I  gave  an  ideal  portrait  of 
the  man  hy  whom  I  wished  to  be  loved.  I  intended  to 
give  it  to  him  to  translate  into  Spanish.  Hitherto 
I  had  always  translated  from  Spanish  into  French, 
and  never  from  French  into  Spanish.  I  now  called  his 
attention  to  this  and  asked  him  to  show  me  how  to  do 
it.  Then  I  asked  Griffith  to  go  to  my  room  and  fetch 
the  letter  I  had  received  that  morning  from  a  friend. 
*'  I  shall  see,"  thought  I,  "  what  effect  my  programme 
of  love  has  upon  him,  and  what  kind  of  blood  flows  in 
his  veins."  I  took  the  paper  from  Griffith,  saying,  ''  See 
how  clearly  I  have  copied  it "  (for  it  was  all  in  my 
handwriting).     Then  I  held  out  to  him  the  paper,  or. 


86     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women, 

if  you  choose  to  call  it  so,  the  trap,  and  I  watched  him 
while  he  read  it.     Here  it  is  :  — 

''The  man  who  will  please  me,  dearest,  must  be 
proud  and  haughty  with  men,  but  gentle  with  women. 
His  piercing  eye  must  instantly  repress  everything  that 
approaches  to  ridicule.  He  will  have  a  smile  of  pity 
for  those  who  jest  on  sacred  things,  which  are,  in  truth, 
the  poesy  of  the  heart,  and  without  which  life  would  be 
a  sad  reality.  I  have  a  profound  contempt  for  those 
who  endeavor  to  take  from  us  the  living  spring  of 
religious  ideas  which  are  so  fruitful  in  consolation. 
Therefore  his  beliefs  must  be  simple  as  those  of  a 
child,  resting  on  the  unshakable  convictions  of  a  man 
of  intellect  who  has  examined  his  reasons  for  belief. 
His  mind,  fresh  and  original,  will  be  without  affecta- 
tion or  pretence ;  he  can  say  nothing  intrusive  or  out 
of  place  ;  it  will  be  as  impossible  for  him  to  bore  others 
as  to  bore  himself,  because  he  will  always  have  in  his 
own  soul  rich  depths. 

"  All  his  thoughts  will  be  of  a  noble  nature,  elevated, 
chivalrous,  without  egotism.  In  all  his  actions  the 
total  absence  of  self-interest  and  calculation  will  be 
noticeable.  His  defects  will  come  from  the  \Qvy  extent 
of  his  ideas,  which  will  be  beyond  his  time.  In  all  things 
I  must  find  him  in  advance  of  his  epoch.  Full  of  deli- 
cate attentions  to  the  feeble,  he  will  be  good  to  all 


Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women.     87 

women,  but  very  difficult  to  render  in  love  with  any  one 
woman ;  he  will  regard  that  question  as  too  serious  to 
treat  lightly.  It  ma}^  be  that  he  will  pass  his  whole  life 
without  loving,  while  possessing  in  himself  all  the  quali- 
ties best  calculated  to  inspire  a  deep  passion.  But  if 
he  once  finds  his  ideal  of  womanhood,  whom  he  has 
seen  in  his  waking  dreams,  if  he  meets  the  being  who 
understands  him,  who  fills  his  soul  and  casts  upon  his 
life  the  rays  of  happiness,  who  shines  to  him  like  a  star 
through  the  dark,  cold,  icy  clouds  of  this  world,  who 
gives  a  fresh,  new  charm  to  his  existence  and  makes 
the  silent  chords  within  him  vibrate,  —  then  it  is  surely 
useless  to  say  he  will  know  how  to  recognize  and  appre- 
ciate his  happiness.  He  will  render  that  woman  happj'. 
Never,  b}'  word  or  look  will  he  wound  the  loving  heart 
which  gives  itself  into  his  hands  with  the  blind  confi- 
dence of  a  child  asleep  in  its  mother's  arms ;  for  if 
that  heart  were  awakened  from  so  sweet  a  dream  it 
would  be  rent  in  twain,  —  it  could  never  embark  on 
that  ocean  without  putting  all  its  future  on  the  venture. 
' '  This  man  will  necessarily  have  the  demeanor, 
countenance,  carriage,  and  manner  of  doing  even  the 
smallest  things  which  characterize  superior  beings  who 
are  simple  and  without  assumption.  He  may  be  ugly, 
but  his  hands  will  be  beautiful ;  his  upper  lip  will 
be  slightly  curled  with  an  ironical  and  disdainful  smile 
for  the  common  and  the  indifferent ;  he  will  reserve  for 


88     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women. 

those  he  loves  the  bright  celestial  rays  of  a  glance  full 
ofsoul." 

"  Will  mademoiselle,"  he  said  in  Spanish  and  in  a 
voice  of  emotion,  "  permit  me  to  keep  this  paper  in 
memory  of  her?  This  is  the  last  lesson  I  shall  have 
the  honor  of  giving  her ;  and  that  which  I  receive  from 
this  letter  may  become  mj^  eternal  rule  of  conduct.  I 
left  Spain  a  fugitive,  without  money ;  but  I  have  now 
received  from  my  family  a  sum  sufficient  for  my  needs. 
I  shall  have  the  honor  to  send  some  poor  Spaniard  to 
take  my  place  as  teacher." 

These  words  seemed  to  me  to  mean,  "  The  pla}^  has 
lasted  long  enough." 

He  rose  with  extreme  dignity,  and  left  me  somewhat 
confounded  b}^  this  delicacy  in  a  man  of  his  class. 
Then  he  went  downstairs  and  asked  to  see  my  father. 
At  dinner  my  father  said,  smiling  :  — 

"  Louise,  3'ou  have  been  taking  lessons  of  a  Spanish 
grandee,  an  ex-minister  of  the  king  of  Spain  and  a 
man  condemned  to  death." 

"  Yes,  the  Due  de  Soria,"  I  replied. 

*'  Duke,  no,"  said  my  father,  "he  is  no  longer  that ; 
he  now  takes  the  title  of  Baron  de  Macumer,  from  a 
domain  he  still  retains  in  Sardinia.  He  strikes  me  as 
very  original." 

"  Don't  insult  with  that  word,  which  means  sarcasm 


Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women.     89 

and  contempt  when  3'ou  say  it,  a  man  who  is  your 
equal,  and  who  has,"  I  added,  "  a  noble  soul." 

*'  Madame  la  Baronne  de  Macnmer,"  said  m}^  father, 
giving  me  one  of  his  sarcastic  looks. 

I  dropped  my  e^'es. 

*'  Dear  me  !  "  said  my  mother,  "  Henarez  must  have 
met  the  Spanish  ambassador  on  the  portico." 

**  Yes,"  replied  my  father.  "  The  ambassador  asked 
me  if  I  was  conspiring  against  the  king,  his  master. 
But  for  all  that  he  bowed  to  the  ex-grandee  with  much 
deference,  and  declared  that  he  put  himself  at  his 
orders." 

All  this,  my  dear  Renee,  happened  two  weeks  ago, 
and  for  fifteen  days  I  have  not  seen  the  man  who  loves 
me  —  for  he  does  love  me.  What  is  he  doing?  I 
would  I  were  a  fly,  a  mouse,  a  sparrow.  I  would  I 
could  see  him,  alone,  in  his  own  room,  without  his  per- 
ceiving me.  There's  a  man  to  whom  I  could  say: 
*'  Go,  die  for  me  !  "  and  he  would  go  ;  at  least,  I  think 
so.  And  so  —  so,  Renee,  there  is  a  man  in  Paris  of 
whom  I  think ;  whose  glance_can  inundate  my  soul 
with  light  Oh !  he 's  an  enemj^,  I  must  tread  him 
under  my  feet.  What!  can  there  be  a  man  without 
_whom  I  cannot  live,  —  a  man  who  is  necessar}^  to  me  ? 
You  marry,  and  I^-7:_love !  At  the  end  of  four  short 
months  how  these  white  doves  who  flew  so  high  have 
fallen  into  the  slough  of  reality  ! 


90     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women. 

Sunday. 
Last  night  at  the  Italian  opera  I  felt  I  was  looked 
at ;  my  eyes  were  magnetically  attracted  by  two  eyes 
of  fire,  shining  like  two  carbuncles,  in  a  dark  corner  of 
the  orchestra.  Henarez  never  took  his  eyes  from  me. 
The  monster  chose  the  one  spot  from  which  he  could 
see  me,  and  there  he  stayed.  I  don't  care  what  he  is 
in  politics,  but  he  has  the  genius  of  love.  Renee, 
**  behold  the  point  we  now  have  reached,"  as  the  great 
Corneille  saith. 


XIII. 

MADAME   DE   L'ESTORADE   TO   MADEMOISELLE   DE 
CHAULIEU. 

La  Crampade,  February. 

My  DEAR  Louise,  —  Before  writing  to  you  I  did  well 
to  wait  But  now  that  I  know,  or  rather  have  learned, 
many  things,  I  ought  to  tell  them  to  you  for  your 
future  happiness.  There  is  so  much  difference  between 
a  young  girl  and  a  married  woman  that  the  young  girl 
can  no  more  conceive  of  the  latter  than  the  married 
woman  can  return  to  girlhood. 

I  preferred  to  become  the  wife  of  Louis  de  I'Estorade 
rather  than  return  to  the  convent.  That 's  the  plain 
truth.  After  making  quite  sure  that  if  I  did  not  marrj^ 
Louis  I  should  return  to  the  convent,  I  resigned  myself, 


Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women.     91 

as  girls  &2iy.  Having  resigned  mj'self,  I  set  to  work  to 
examine  my  situation,  so  as  to  make  the  best  of  it. 

At  first  the  serious  nature  of  the  engagements  I  was 
taking  filled  me  with  terror.  Marriage  is  a  thing  for 
life,  whereas  falling  in  love  is  only  a  matter  of  pleasure; 
marriage  has  to  last  after  those  pleasures  have  dis- 
appeared, and  it  gives  birth  to^interests  far  more  dear 
than  those  which  first  unite  a  man  and  woman.  Per- 
haps nothing  more  is  really  needed  for  a  happy  marriage 
than  a  sincere  friendship,  which  covers  many  human 
imperfections  with  its  harmonies.  Nothing  stood  in 
the  way  of  my  having  such  a  friendship  with  Louis 
de  I'Estorade.  Having  determined  not  to  expect  in 
marriage  the  joys  of  that  love  about  which  we  used  to 
think  so  often  and  witli  such  dangerous  enthusiasm,  I 
began  to  feel  a  sort  of  gentle  tranquillit}^  within  me. 
"  If  I  cannot  have  love,"  I  said  to  myself,  "  wh}'  not 
seek  for  happiness.  Besides,  I  am  loved,  and  I  will  let 
myself  be  loved.  My  marriage  will  not  be  servitude ; 
on  the  contrary,  I  shall  always  be  in  a  position  to 
command.  What  objection  can  there  be  to  that  state  of 
things,  for  a  woman  who  desires  to  remain  the  absolute 
mistress  of  herself?  " 

The  diflScult  question  of  being  married  without  mar- 
riage was  settled  in  a  conversation  between  Louis  and 
me,  in  which  he  disclosed  the  excellence  of  his  char- 
acter and  the  sweetness  of  his   soul.    My  dearest,  I 


92     Memoirs  of  Two  You7ig  Married  Women. 

wanted  to  remain  in  that  beautiful  period  of  the  hope 
and  growth  of  love  which  leaves  to  the  soul  its  virgin- 
(f  ity.  To  grant  nothing  to  mere  duty,  to  the  law,  to 
follow  one's  own  impulse  only,  to  keep  my  freedom  of 
will ~ ah !  that  was  surely  a  good  and  noble  thing! 
This  agreement,  which  is  against  that  of  the  laws,  and 
of  the  sacrament  itself,  could  only  pass  between  Louis 
and  myself. 

This  difficulty  —  the  first  that  I  perceived  —  was  all 
that  caused  the  slight  delay  in  my  marriage.  If  at  the 
outset  I  was  resolved  to  accept  everything  rather  than 
return  to  the  convent,  it  is  natural  that  I  should  want 
to  obtain  all  I  could  after  making  up  m}^  mind  to  the 
worst ;  and  then  you  know,  dear,  you  and  I  want  all 
things !  I  examined  Louis  as  best  I  could,  saying 
to  myself:  "  Have  misfortunes  made  him  good  or  bad, 
kind  or  harsh  ?  "  By  dint  of  watching  him  I  discovered 
that  his  love  amounted  to  worship.  When  I  once  felt 
myself  uplifted  to  the  position  of  an  idol,  when  I  saw 
him  turn  pale  and  tremble  at  a  look,  I  felt  that  I  might 
dare  all.  I  drew  him  apart  in  one  of  our  country  walks 
and  cautiously  questioned  him.  I  made  him  talk  to 
me ;  I  asked  for  his  ideas,  his  plans,  what  he  expected 
our  future  to  be.  My  questions  seemed  to  him  such 
proofs  of  reflection,  and  touched  so  precisely  on  the 
weak  spots  of  that  dreadful  dual  life,  that  Louis,  as  he 
has  since  told  me,  was  alarmed  at  such  reasoning  in  a 
girl. 


Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women.     93 

As  for  me,  I  listened  to  his  answers  ;  they  were  con- 
fused and  involved,  like  those  of  a  person  who  has  lost 
his  self-possession  ;  and  I  presently  discovered  that  fate 
had  given  me  an  adversary  who  was  less  able  than  I 
just  because  he  divined,  what  3'ou  used  to  call  so 
magniloquently,  my  great  soul.  Poor  fellow !  broken 
by  sufferings  and  privation  he  looks  upon  himself  as  a 
wreck,  and,  as  he  told  me,  three  fears  overcame  him. 
In  the  first  place,  he  is  thirty-seven  and  I  am  seventeen, 
and  he  looked  with  horror  on  the  twenty  years  differ- 
ence between  us.  Then,  it  is  agreed  and  understood 
that  I  am  very  beautiful,  and  Louis  could  not  help 
seeing  and  knowing  regretfully  that  sufferings  have 
robbed  him  of  his  youth.  Besides  all  that,  he  felt  me  to 
be  superior  as  a  woman  to  himself  as  a  man.  Forced 
into  distrust  of  himself  by  these  three  visible  inferiori- 
ties, he  feared  he  was  not  fit  to  make^me  happy  and 
was  onl}'  accepted  by  me  as  a  pis  alter.  He  said  to  me 
one  evening,  hesitatingly,  that  JTwould  not  have  taken 
him  unless  to  escape  the  convent. 

"  That  is  true,"  I  answered  gravely.  My  dear  friend, 
he  then  caused  me  the  first  great  emotion  of  all  those 
that  come  to  us  through  men.  I  was  struck  to  the 
heart  when  I  saw  two  heavy  tears  rolling  from  his 
eyes. 

''  Louis,"  I  said  in  a  comforting  voice,  *'it  depends 
on  you  to  make  this  marriage  of  convenience  a  marriage 


94     Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women. 

to  which  I  can  give  my  fullest  consent.  What  I  am 
going  to  ask  of  3'ou  requires  a  far  greater  abnegation  on 
your  part  than  the  utmost  devotion  of  jour  love, 
sincere  as  that  may  be.  Can  you,  will  3'ou  rise  to  friend- 
ship such  as  I  understand  it?  We  can  have  but  one 
real  friend  in  life,  and  I  would  fain  be  yours.  Friend- 
ship  is  the  bond  betweentwo  equal  souls,  uniting_their 
strength,  but  nevertheless,  independent.  Let  us  be 
friends  and  partners,  bearing  our  life  together.  Leave 
me  my  independence.  I  do  not  forbid  you  to  inspire 
in  me  the  love  you  say  you  feel  for  me ;  but  I  do  not 
wish  to  be  j^our  wife  until  I  feel  I  can  be.  When  that 
time  comes  I  will  obey  the  feeling  instantly.  I  do  not 
ask  you  to  make  this  friendship  cold,  or  to  refrain  from 
troubling  it  with  words  of  love ;  I  will  try,  myself,  to 
make  our  affection  perfect.  I  do  not  wish  to  seem  to 
3^ou  capricious  or  prudish,  for  that  I  am  not ;  and  I  think 
you  too  much  of  an  honorable  gentleman  not  to  save 
me  from  all  outward  remark,  and  to  keep  up,  at  any 
rate,  the  appearances  of  marriage." 

My  dear,  I  have  never  seen  any  one  so  happy  as 
Louis  when  I  made  him  my  proposition ;  his  eyes 
shone ;  happiness  seemed  to  have  quenched  his  tears. 

"Be  sure  of  one  thing,"  I  added  ;  "  there  is  nothing 
fantastic  in  what  I  ask  of  you.  It  comes  from  ray 
immense  desire  to  gain  your  esteem.  If  you  owed  me 
only  to  marriage,  to  legal  and   religious  formalities, 


Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women.     95 

would  you  alwa_ys  be  as  glad  as  if  3'our  love  were 
crowned  by  me?  And  think,  if_I  became  your  w ife 
and  a  mother  through  passive  obedience,  as  my  dear, 
honored  mother  tells  me  I  should  —  if  I  had  a  child,  do 
you  think  I  couldjove  it  as  if  it  were  the  son  of  my  will  ;^ 
and  heart?  It  may  not  be  necessary  for  us  to  please 
each  other  as  much  as  lovers  seek  to  do,  but  remember 
that  we  must  not  displease  each  other.  We  are  about  to 
enter  upon  a  trying  and  dangerous  situation.  We  are 
*to  live  in  the  country ;  we  ought  to  guard  against  all 
instability  of  feelings.  Let  us  inake  our  lives  of  an 
even  tenor;  wise  hjearts  can  surely  forearm  themselves 
against  disillusions,  and  the  misery  of  changed  feelings." 

He  was  greatly  surprised  to  find  that  I  had  reasoned 
out  this  matter  in  m^-  own  mind,  but  he  made  me  a 
solemn  promise  ;  after  which  I  took  his  hand  and  pressed 
it  affectionately. 

We  were  married  the  following  week.  Sure  of  keep- 
ing my  liberty  I  threw  myself  gayly  into  all  the  insipid 
preparations  for  the  various  ceremonies.  I  was  able  to 
be  m}'  own  natural  self,  and  I  've  no  doubt  everybody 
thought  I  was  a  deep  one,  —  to  use  one  of  our  Blois 
expressions.  They  took  me,  I  know,  for  a  shrewd  girl ; 
though  in  reality  I  was  onlj^  delighted  with  a  new 
situation  and  the  many  resources  I  had  managed  to 
provide  myself  with.  Dearest,  I  had  seen,  as  in  a 
vision,  the  difficulties  of  my  life,  and  I  longed  sincerely 


96     Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women. 

to  make  the  happiness  of  that  man.  Now,  it  is  certain 
that  living  in  solitude  as  we  shall  do,  if  a  woman  does 
not  maintain  her  supremacy  marriage  must  become 
intolerable  in  the  long  run.     Conjugal  love,  as  I  con- 


ceive it,  should  clothe  a  woman  with  hope^^ould 
render  her  supreme,  should  give  her  an  inexhaustible 
vital  force,  a  warmth  of  life  which  is  able  to  bring  all 
things  to  fruition  around  her.     The  more  she  is  mistress 


of  herself,  the  more  able  she  is  to  bring  love  and 
happiness  into  the  world. 

I  have  exacted  a  promise  from  Louis  that  the  deepest 
secrecy  shall  surround  our  internal  arrangements.  A 
man  who  is  thought  to  be  controlled  by  a  woman 
(as  the  world  regards  it)  is  justly  open  to  ridicule. 
The  influence  of  a  woman  should  be  absolutely  secret ; 
it  is  a  mystery;  in  all  things  our  gift  lies  there. 
Having  undertaken  to  raise  this  broken  nature,  to 
restore  the  qualities  I  see  in  it  to  their  pristine  lustre, 
I  desire  that  the  results  I  obtain  should  seem  to  come 
spontaneously  from  Louis  himself.  Such  is  the  task  I 
set  before  me ;  it  is  a  fine  one,  and  it  suffices  for  a 
woman's  glory.  I  am  almost  proud  of  this  secret 
thought  which  fills  my  life,  this  plan  on  which  my 
efforts  will  all  be  spent,  while  known  to  none  but  God 
and  you. 

I  may  ^aj"  now  that  I  am  almost  happy ;  and  perhaps 
I  should  not  be  as  happy  if  I  could  not  tell  all  I  feel  to 


Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women.     97 

a  beloved  friend  —  for  I  cannot  tell  it  to  him ;  my 
happiness  would  wound  him,  and  therefore  I  must  hide 
it.  He  has,  my  dearest,  the  delicacy  of  a  woman,  like 
all  men  who  have  suffered  much.  For  two  months  we 
remained  to  each  other  what  we  were  before  our  mar- 
riage. I  studied,  as  3'ou  can  well  imagine,  a  crowd  of 
little  personal  questions,  on  which  love  depends  far 
more  than  we  think.  In  spite  of  my  coldness,  that 
suffering  soul  expanded ;  I  saw  his  face  change  its 
expression  and  grow  young  again.  The  elegance  I 
brought  into  the  house  cast  its  reflections  on  his  whole 
person  and  transformed  it.  Insensibly  I  grew  accus- 
i»med  to  him  ;  I  made  him  another  mj'self.  I  discovered 
as  I  watched  him  the  correspondence  of  his  soul  to  his 
countenance.  The  animal  we  call  a  husband  —  that 's 
your  expression  —  disappeared.  At  last  I  found  —  on 
some  sweet  evening,  but  I  do  not  well  know  which,  a 
lover  whose  words  went  to  m}-  soul  and  on  whose  arm  I 
rested  with  unspeakable  pleasure  ;  nothing  seemed  lack- 
ing to  our  love,  neither  the  delicacy  nor  the  mysterious 
grace  which  our  imaginations,  dear,  had  always  asked 
for  it.  \^ 

I  will  admit  to  3'ou,  that  in  spite  of  all  this,  again  I 
stipulated  for  my  liberty  of  will.  I  cannot  tell  you  all 
my  reasons,  and  yours  is  certainly  the  only  soul  into 
which  I  could  pour  this  semi-confidence.  Even  when 
belonging  wholly  to  onej  husband,  beloved  or  not,  I 

7  '"     ""'" "^ 


98     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married   Women. 

think  we  lose  much  by  not  concealing  our  sentiments 
^an3  lihe  judgment  that  we  form  of  marriage.  For 
m3'self,  the  only  joy  that  T  have  had,  but  that  is  celes- 
tial, comes  from  the  certainty  of  bringing  back  to  life 
this  suffering  soul  intrusted  to  me.  Louis  has  renewed 
his  3'outh  and  strength ;  his  gayety  has  returned  to 
him  ;  he  is  no  longer  the  same  man.  I  have  wiped  out, 
like  a  fairy,  even  the  memory  of  his  sufferings.  I  have 
metamorphosed  him  ;  he  has  grown  charming.  Sure 
of  pleasing  me,  his  mind  unfolds  and  displays  all  sorts 
of  new  qualities. 

To  be  the  living  principle  of  a  man's  welfare  when 
'^  that  man  knows  it  and  mingles  gratitude  with  love  — 
ah !  dearest,  that  certainty  develops  a  power  in  the 
soul  which  surpasses  that  of  love,  so-called.  That 
impetuous  and  lasting  power,  one,  yet  diverse,  gene- 
rates the  Family,  that  glorious  work  of  womanhood, 
which  I  now  am  able  to  perceive  in  all  its  fruitful 
beauty. 

The  old  father  is  no  longer  miserl}" ;  he  gives  me 
blindl}"  all  I  wish.  The  servants  are  gay  and  cheerful. 
Louis's  happiness  shines  upon  this  home  in  which  I 


reign  b}-  love.  The  old  count  enters  heartily  into  all 
the  improvements.  Not  to  seem  a  blot  on  my  luxurj^ 
he  has  lately  adopted,  just  to  please  me,  the  dress,  and 
with  the  dress  the  manners  of  the  present  day.  We 
have  English  horses,  a  coupe,  a  caleche  and  a  tilbury. 


Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married   Women.     99 

Our  servants  are  in  plain  clothes,  but  very  stylish.  I 
give  all  my  mind  —  I  'm  not  joking  —  to  the  business 
of  managing  my  household  with  due  economy,  and 
providing  it  with  as  much  enjoyment  as  I  can  at  the 
least  possible  cost. 

I  have  already  put  into  Louis's  head  the  necessity  of 
making  roads,  so  as  to  deserve  the  reputation  of  a  man 
concerned  in  the  welfare  of  his  neighborhood.  I  have 
also  spurred  him  on  to  increase  his  mental  attainments. 
I  hope  to  see  him  before  long  a  member  of  the  council- 
general  of  the  department,  through  the  influence  of  my 
family  and  that  of  his  own  mother.  I  have  told  him 
plainly  that  I  am  ambitious,  that  I  think  it  a  very  good 
plan  for  his  father  to  continue  the  management  of  our 
property,  and  make  our  savings  for  us,  because  I 
want  him  wholly  devoted  to  politics;  I  wish  that  to 
be  his  career,  and  then,  if  we  have  children,  I  shall  see 
them  happy  and  useful  in  serving  the  State.  I  told 
him  that  he  must,  on  pain  of  losing  my  esteem  and 
affection,  be  elected  deputy  from  the  department  at  the 
coming  elections.  My  family  will  help  his  canvass, 
and  if  he  succeeds  we  shall  pass  our  winters  in  Paris. 
Ah !  my  darling,  I  wish  you  could  have  seen  with 
what  ardor  he  obeyed  me !     I  saw  then  how  much  he 


loved  me.    Yesterday  he  wrote  me  the  following  letter 


from  Marseille,  whither  he  had  gone  for  only  a  few 
hours :  — 


100     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women. 

"When  you  permitted  me  to  love  you,  my  tender  Renee, 
I  began  to  beliove  in  happiness ;  but  now  I  see  no  end  to  it. 
The  past  is  no  longer  anything  but  a  vague  memory,  a 
shadow  needed  to  bring  forth  the  splendor  of  that  happiness. 
When  I  am  near  you,  love  transports  me  to  the  point  of 
depriving  me  of  the  power  of  expressing  it;  I  can  then  only 
admire  and  adore  you.  Words  come  to  me  when  we  are 
parted.  You  are  beautiful  indeed,  with  a  beauty  so  grave, 
so  majestic,  that  time  will  scarcely  alter  it;  and  though  the 
love  of  a  married  pair  does  not  depend  as  much  on  beauty  as 
on  feelings  —  which  are  exquisite  in  you  —  let  me  tell  you 
here  that  the  certainty  of  seeing  you  always  beautiful  gives 
me  a  delight  which  increases  with  every  glance  I  cast  upon 
you.  The  harmony  and  the  dignity  of  the  lines  of  your 
face,  which  reveals  your  noble  soul,  show  something  unspeak- 
ably pure  beneath  the  ivory  tones  of  the  skin.  The  light  in 
your  black  eyes  and  the  frank  outline  of  your  brow  tell  of 
lofty  virtues,  of  steadfast  loyalty,  of  a  heart  made  to  meet 
the  storms  of  life  should  any  come.  Nobility  is  the  distinc- 
tive quality  of  your  nature  ;  I  do  not  pretend  to  inform  you 
of  this ;  I  simply  write  it  to  show  you  that  I  know  the  full 
value  of  the  treasure  I  possess. 

"  The  little  that  you  grant  me  is  and  will  be  happiness, 
in  years  to  come,  as  at  present;  for  1  feel  all  that  there  is  of 
grandeur  in  the  promise  we  have  made  to  respect  each  other's 
liberty.  We  shall  be  free  in  spite  of  the  tie,  the  close  chain 
that  binds  us;  we  shall  owe  each  proof  of  tenderness  to  the 
loving  will  of  the  one  who  grants  it.  I  shall  be  all  the  more 
proud  of  winning  you  thus  because  I  now  know  the  value 
you  attach  to  that  conquest. 

*'  You  can  never  speak  or  breathe,  or  act  or  think  without 
exciting,  more  and  more,  the  admiration  that  I  feel  for  the 


Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married    Women.     101 

graces  of  your  soul  and  of  your  body.  There  is  something 
in  you  —  I  know  not  what  it  is  —  something  divine,  wise, 
enchanting,  which  joins  in  one  accord,  reflection,  honor, 
pleasure,  hope ;  in  other  words,  which  gives  to  love  an  extent? 
an  horizon,  greater  than  that  of  this  life.  Oh !  my  angel, 
may  the  genius  of  love  be  faithful  to  me,  and  may  the  future 
be  ever  full  of  that  pure  passion  by  the  help  of  which  you 
have  embellished  my  whole  existence. 

*'  When  thou  art  a  mother  I  shall  see  thee  proud  of  the 
vigor  of  thy  life,  I  shall  hear  thee,  in  that  voice  so  sweet, 
with  those  ideas  so  delicate,  so  new,  so  carefully  well-rend- 
ered, blessing  the  love  that  has  refreshed  my  soul,  redeemed 
my  faculties  and  is  my  pride,  that  love  from  which  I  draw, 
as  from  a  magic  well-spring,  a  new  life.  I  am  indeed 
another  being.  Yes,  I  will  be  all  you  wish  me  to  be;  I  will 
become  a  man  who  is  useful  to  our  country ;  and  on  you 
shall  shine  the  glory,  the  cause  and  principle  of  which  will  be 
your  approval." 

Dear,  that  is  how  I  am  forming  him.  The  style  is 
a  little  fresh  ;  but  a  year  hence  he  '11  do  better.  Louis 
is  in  the  first  transports ;  but  I  know  he  will  come  to 
that  equable  and  continued  sensation  of  happiness 
which  a  happy  marriage  brings  when  a  woman  and  a 
man,  knowing  themselves  thoroughly  and  sure  of  one 
another,  have  found  the  secret  of  varying  the  infinite 
and  of  putting  charm  into  the  very  foundations  of  their 
life.  This  glorious  secret  of  truly  wedded  pairs  I  see 
it,  and  I  wish  to  possess  it.  Please  observe  that  he 
thinks  himself  loved,  —  ah,  the  conceit  of  man  !  — loyed 


7 


102     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married   Women, 

as  though  he  were  not  my  husband.  However,  I  am  not 
3'et  beyond  that  amount  of  attachment  which  gives  us 
strength  to  bear^many  things.  And  3^et,  Louis  is  most' 
amiable,  he  has  great  equability  of  character ;  he  does 
simply  actions  which  other  men  would  boast  of.  If  I 
do  not  love  him,  he  is  at  least  ver}^  dear  to  me. 

So,  dearest,  behold  the  black  hair  and  the  black  e3'es 
and  what  3'ou  call  my  imperial  air  and  person  elevated 
to  the  rank  of  sovereign  power.  Perhaps  a  few  3'ears 
from  now  you  and  I  will  be  laughing  together  happily 
in  Paris ;  whence  I  shall  bring  3'ou  back  sometimes  to 
my  beautiful  oasis  in  Provence.  Oh,  Louise !  don't 
lose  the  beautiful  future  we  could  have  together.  Don't 
commit  those  follies  3'our  last  letter  threatened  me  with. 
I  have  married  an  old  30ung  man  ;  do  3'OU  find  some 
3'oung  old  one  in  the  Chamber  of  peers  and  marry  him. 
That 's  in  the  line  of  3'our  career  —  but  that  Spaniard  ? 
oh,  no ! 

XIV. 

THE   DUG   DE    SORIA   TO    THE    BARON    DE    MACUMER. 

Madrid. 

My  dear  Brother,  —  You  cannot  make  me  Due  de 

Soria,  without  my  acting  as  the  Due  de  Soria.    If  I  had 

to  think  of  3'ou  as  a  wanderer,  without  the  comforts 

that  mone3^  gives,  m3'  happiness  would  be  intolerable  to 


Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married   Women.     103 

me.  Neither  Marie  nor  I  are  willing  to  marry  until  we 
know  that  you  accept  the  sum  we  have  sent  3'ou  by 
Urraca.  These  two  millions  are  the  fruit  of  your  own 
economy  and  Marie's. 

We  have  praj'ed  for  your  happiness  kneeling  together 
before  the  altar ;  and  with  what  fervor !  ah,  God  alone 
knows  that !  My  brother !  surely  our  pra3^ers  will  be 
granted.  The  love  that  3'ou  seek,  the  consolation  of 
your  exile,  will  come  to  30U  from  heaven.  Marie 
wept  as  she  read  your  letter;  you  have  her  utmost 
admiration. 

As  for  me,  I  accept  your  proposal  for  the  sake  of  our 
house,  but  not  for  my  own  sake.  The  king  behaved 
exactly  as  you  expected.  Ah,  you  flung  him  his  satis- 
faction so  disdainfully,  as  a  keeper  flings  meat  to  a 
tiger,  that,  to  avenge  j'ou,  I  longed  to  make  him  feel 
how  you  had  crushed  him  by  j^our  grandeur. 

The  only  thing  that  I  have  taken  for  m3'self,  dear 
beloved  brother,  is  my  happiness,  m^^  Marie.  For  that, 
I  shall  ever  be  to  you  in  mj*  own  sight  as  a  creature 
before  his  Creator.  There  will  be  in  my  life  and  in 
Marie's  one  da}^  as  perfect  as  that  of  our  happy  mar- 
riage ;  I  mean  the  one  on  which  we  hear  that  your 
heart  is  understood,  that  a  woman  loves  3^ou  as  you 
should  be,  as  3'ou  desire  to  be  loved. 

Do  not  forget  that  if,  as  3'ou  sa3',  3"ou  live  in  us,  we 
live  in  3'ou.     You  can  write  to  us  safely  under  cover 


104     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married   Women. 

to  the  Nuncio,  sending  your  letters  via  Rome.  The 
French  ambassador  in  Rome  will  no  doubt  transmit 
them  to  the  Secretary  of  State,  Monsignore  Bemboni, 
who  will  receive  instructions  from  the  legate.  All 
other  waj^s  of  communicating  would  be  dangerous. 

Adieu,  dear  exile,  dear  despoiled  one.  Be  proud  of 
tlie  happiness  you  have  given  us  if  you  cannot  be 
happy  in  it ;  but  God  will  surely  hear  our  prayers  for 
you. 

Fernando. 


XV. 

LOUISE   DE   CHAULIEU   TO   MADAME   DE   l'eSTORADE. 

Ah  !  my  angel,  how  philosophical  marriage  has  made 
you !  Your  dear  face  must  have  turned  yellow  when 
you  wrote  me  all  those  dreadful  thoughts  about  human 
life  and  our  duties. 

Do  3'ou  seriously  think  3'ou  will  convert  me  to  a 


humdrum  marriage  by  this  programme  of  underground 
labors  ?  Alas !  alas !  is  it  to  this  that  all  our  wise 
meditations  on  life  and  love  have  brought  you?  We 
left  the  convent  clothed  with  our  innocence  and  armed 
at  all  points  with  reflections  ;  and  yet  the  lance  of  this 
first  and  purely  mental  experience  of  things  has  got 
through  our  armor  and  staggered  you.     If  I  did  not 


Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women.     105 

know  you  for  the  purest  and  most  angelic  creature  in 
the  world  I  should  say  that  yoxxv  calculations  showed 
actual  depravit3%  My  dearest,  can  it  be  that  in  the 
interests  of  this  country  life  of  yours  3'ou  mean  to  put 
your  happiness  in  a  pint  pot,  and  treat  love  as  you 
might  your  timber !  Oh,  I  *d  rather  perish  through  the 
violent  convulsions  of  my  heart  than  live  in  the  dreari- 
ness  of  your  virtuous  arithmetic. 

You  and  I  are  both  educated  girls,  —  educated  from 
having  deeply  reflected  on  a  few  things ;  but,  my 
dearest,  philosophy  without  love,  or  with  a  poor  or 
false  love,  is  the  most  horrible  of  conjugal  hypocrisies. 


I  am  afraid  the  greatest  simpleton  on  earth  would 
sooner  or  later  discover  the  owl  of  wisdom  blinking  in 
your  bower  of  roses, —  a  disco verj^^  so  little  encouraging 
that  it  is  likely  to  put  to  flight  the  warmest  passion. 
You  are  making  destiny  for  yourself  instead  of  letting 


it  make  you.  How  strangely 'we  two  are  being  twirled 
about !  Much  philosophy  and  little  love  is  3'our  drift ; 
much  love  and  no  philosophy  is  mine.  The  Julie  of 
Jean- Jacques,  whom  I  was  thinking  a  dreadful  pedant, 
is  a  mere  ignoramus  compared  to  3'ou.  Virtue  of 
womanhood !  wh}',  you  've  measured  life  from  top  to 
toe! 

Alas !  I  am  laughing  at  j'ou,  and  perhaps  you  are 
right.  You  have  immolated  your  youth  in  a  single  day, 
and  3'ou  '11  have  the  vices  of  age  before  your  time.     I 


106     Memoii^s  of  Two  Young  Married  Women. 

dare  sa}^  your  Louis  will  be  happy.  If  he  loves  you,  — • 
and  I  don't  doubt  he  does,  —  he  may  never  find  out 
that  you  have  behaved  in  the  interests  of  your  family, 
just  as  we  are  told  courtesans  behave  in  the  interests  of 
their  own  fortunes  ;  they  make  men  happy,  —  at  least 
it  seems  so  b}-  the  way  men  go  on.  A  clear-sighted 
husband  would,  of  course,  always  continue  to  love  youl 
but  won't  he  dispense  with  gratitude  to  a  woman  who 
makes  deception  a  sort  of  moral  corset,  as  necessary  to 
her  life  as  an  ordinary  corset  to  her  body  ? 

My  dearest,  love  is  to  my  eyes  the  principle  of  all 
virtues  gathered  into  that  image  of  the  Divine.  Love, 
like  all  principles,  cannot  be  estimated  and  measured ; 
it  is  the  infinite  of  our  souls.  Have  n't  you  be^ntrying 
to~justit'y  toyourself  the  dreadful  position  of  a^irl 
married  to  a  man  she  can  only  esteem?  Duty,  that's 
your  rule  and  measure ;  but  to  do  your  duty  from 
necessity  is  the  morality  of  atheists ;  to  do  it  from 
love,  from  sentiment,  that  is  the  secret  law  of  woman* 
Tbood.  You  have  made  yourself  the  man,  and  yoxxv 
Louis  will  soon  find  himself  the  woman. 

Oh!  my  dear  Renee,  your  letter  has  plunged  me 
into  endless  meditation.  I  see  plainly  that  a  convent 
can  never  take  the  place  of  a  mother  to  girls.  I 
entreat  you,  my  noble  angel  with  the  black  eyes,  so 
pure  and  proud,  so  grave,  so  elegant,  think  over  these 
first  outcries  your  letter  has  wrung  from  me.     I  am  try- 


Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women.     107 

ing  to  console  m3'self  with  the  thought  that  at  this  very 
moment,  while  I  am  lamenting,  love  may  have  knocked 
over  all  your  sage  scaffoldings.  Well,  I  might  do  worse 
without  reasoning,  without  calculating ;  passion  is  an 
element  which  may  have  a  logic  as  cruel  as  yours. 

Monday. 

Last  night,  before  going  to  bed,  I  sat  down  at  my  win- 
dow to  look  at  the  sky,  which  was  sublimely  pure.  The 
stars  were  like  silver  nails  holding  up  the  azure  veil. 
In  the  silence  of  the  night  I  could  hear  the  sound  of 
breathing,  and  by  the  half-light  from  the  heavens  I  saw 
my  Spaniard,  perched  like  a  squirrel  in  the  branches  of 
a  tree  on  the  boulevard,  contemplating,  no  doubt,  my 
windows.  The  first  effect  of  this  discovery  was  to  drive 
me  into  the  farther  corner  of  my  room,  with  my  hands 
and  feet  almost  paral3^zed ;  but  deep  below  that  first 
sensation  of  fear,  I  felt  a  jo}'  ineffable. 

Not  one  of  those  clever  Frenchmen  who  want  to 
marry  me  would  think  of  clambering  into  an  elm  at  the 
risk  of  being  seized  b}^  the  watchman.  My  Spaniard 
had  probably  been  there  a  good  long  time.  Ah !  he 
does  not  choose  to  give  me  any  more  lessons,  but  he 
needs  one  himself;  and  he  shall  have  it!  If  he  only 
knew  what  I  have  said  to  myself  about  his  apparent 
ugliness!  I  assure  3'ou,  Renee,  I've  been  philosophiz- 
ing, too.     It  occurred  to  me  that  there  was  something 


108     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women. 

dreadful  in  loving  handsome  men.  Is  n't  it  admitting 
that  the  senses  count  for  three  fourths  of  love,  which 
ought  to  be  wholly  divine? 

So,  when  I  got  a  little  over  my  first  fright,  I  put  my 
head  out  again  to  see  if  he  were  still  there,  and  I  was 
well  punished  for  it.  With  some  sort  of  tube  he  fired 
a  letter  artistically  rolled  up  in  a  leaden  ball  through 
the  window.  *'  Good  heavens  !  "  I  thought,  "  can  he  sup- 
pose I  left  m}^  window  open  for  that  ?  But  if  I  shut  it 
suddenly  I  shall  seem  to  admit  it."  So  I  did  better ;  I 
went  back  to  the  window  as  if  I  had  not  heard  the  noise 
of  his  note  falling,  and  as  if  I  had  seen  nothing.  Then 
I  said  aloud,  *'  Do  come  here,  Griffith,  and  look  at  the 
stars,"  —  Griffith  being  sound  asleep,  like  a  true  old 
maid  as  she  is. 

When  the  Moor  heard  me  he  glided  down  with  the 
rapidity  of  a  shadow.  He  must  have  been  half-dead 
with  fright,  like  mj'self,  for  I  did  not  hear  him  walk 
away,  and  I  dare  say  he  stayed  crouching  at  the  foot 
of  the  elm.  After  a  good  quarter  of  an  hour,  during 
which  time  I  bathed  in  the  blue  of  heaven  and  floun- 
dered in  the  ocean  of  curiosity,  I  closed  my  window 
and  jumped  into  bed  to  unroll  my  note  with  all  the 
care  they  give  to  the  papyri  in  Naples.  My  fingers 
touched  fire.  "  What  horrible  power  is  this  that  man 
exercises  over  me?"  I  said  to  myself,  and  I  put  the 
paper  to  a  candle  thinking  to  burn  it ;  then  a  thought 


Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women.     109 

restrained  me.  What  could  he  have  to  say  to  me 
secretly?  However,  my  dear,  I  did  burn  his  letter 
unread,  thinking  that  if  all  the  other  girls  in  the  uni- 
verse would  have  devoured  it,  I,  Armande-Louise-Marie 
de  Chaulieu  could  not  and  would  not  do  so. 

The  next  night,  at  the  Italiens,  there  he  was  at  his 
post !  But,  constitutional  minister  that  he  once  was, 
I  am  certain  he  did  not  detect  hy  any  movement  or 
attitude  of  mine  the  agitation  in  my  soul ;  I  behaved 
precisely  as  if  nothing  had  happened  the  night  before. 
I  was  satisfied  with  myself;  but  I  must  say  he  looked 
rather  sad.  Poor  man !  it  is  so  natural  in  Spain  to 
make  love  through  the  windows.  During  the  acts  he 
walked  about  the  corridor.  The  secretary  of  the 
Spanish  legation  saw  him  there  and  told  me  an  act  of 
his  that  is  really  sublime.  Being  Due  de  Soria  he  was 
to  have  married  one  of  the  richest  heiresses  of  Spain, 
the  young  Princess  Marie  Heredia,  whose  fortune  would 
have  lessened  the  trials  of  his  exile.  But  it  seems  that 
contrary  to  the  will  of  their  parents,  who  had  betrothed 
them  in  childhood,  Marie  loved  the  younger  brother ; 
and  my  Felipe  gave  her  up  to  him,  and  allowed  the 
king  of  Spain  to  take  his  own  rank  and  fortune  away 
from  him  and  give  them  to  this  brother. 

I  said  to  the  young  secretary,  ''  He  probably  did  it 
in  the  simplest  manner." 

' '  Then  5'ou  know  him  ? "  he  said  naivel}'.  My 
mother  smiled. 


110     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women. 

''  What  will  become  of  him  now?  "  I  asked.  *t  I  am 
told  he  is  condemned  to  death." 

"  Yes,  in  Spain ;  but  he  can  live  in  Sardinia.  The 
King  of  Sardinia  granted  him  a  passport  as  Baron  de 
Macumer,  —  though  not  without  making  some  diffi- 
culty," added  the  young  diplomat  "  But  he  is  really 
a  Sardinian  subject.  He  has  magnificent  feudal  estates 
on  the  island,  with  power  of  life  and  death.  He  has  a 
palace  at  Sassari.  If  Ferdinand  VII.  dies,  Macumer 
will  enter  diplomacy,  and  the  court  of  Turin  will  give 
him  an  embassy.     Though  3'oung  — " 

''  Young?  is  he  young?  "  I  said. 

''Yes,  Mademoiselle  ;  though  young,  he  is  one  of  the 
most  distinguished  men  in  Spain." 

I  was  turning  my  opera-glass  round  the  theatre  as 
the  secretary  spoke,  and  seemed  to  be  paying  him  very 
little  attention;  but,  between  ourselves,  I  was  in  de- 
spair at  having  burned  that  letter.  I  wonder  how  such 
a  man  expresses  himself  when  he  loves  —  and  he  does 
love  me.  To  be  loved,  adored  in  secret !  to  have  in 
this  audience,  made  up  of  all  the  greatest  men  in  Paris, 
a  man,  a  great  man,  of  my  own,  and  no  one  to  know  it ! 
Oh,  Renee,  I  began  to  see  the  use  of  balls  and  parties, 
and  to  feel  that  other  people  are  necessarj^  to  one's  love, 
if  only  to  sacrifice  them  all  to  the  beloved.  I  felt 
a  new  and  happ}'  being  within  me.  All  my  vanities, 
my  self-love,  my  pride  were  being  stroked.  God 
knows  what  sort  of  a  glance  I  cast  about  me. 


Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women.     Ill 


(( 


Ah !  you  sly  puss !  "  whispered  my  mother,  smiling. 

Yes,  my  very  shrewd  mother  detected  a  secret  joy  in 
my  behavior ;  I  was  forced  to  lower  m}^  flag  to  that 
astute  woman.  Those  four  words  of  hers  taught  me 
more  of  the  science  of  the  world  than  I  have  learned  in 
a  year  —  for  here  it  is  March.  Alas  !  the  Italian  opera 
will  be  over  in  a  month.  What  will  become  of  me 
without  that  divine  music  if  my  heart  is  full  of  love  ? 

My  dear,  when  I  went  home  I  opened  my  window, 
with  the  resolution  of  a  Chaulieu,  to  look  at  a  heavy 
shower.  Oh  !  if  men  only  knew  the  powerful  seduction 
they  exercise  over  us  by  heroic  deeds  what  great  things 
they  would  do  ;  even  cowards  would  be  heroes.  What 
I  had  just  heard  of  my  Spaniard  had  put  me  into  a 
fever.  I  was  certain  he  was  there  —  waiting  to  throw 
me  another  letter.  This  time  I  did  not  burn  it.  I 
read  it. 

Here,  Madame  philosopher,  is  the  first  love-letter  I 
ever  received ;  now  we  have  each  had  one :  — 

Louise,  I  do  not  love  you  because  of  your  sublime  beauty  ; 
I  do  not  love  you  because  of  your  broad  mind,  the  nobility 
of  your  sentiments,  the  infinite  grace  you  impart  to  all  things; 
nor  yet  because  of  your  pride,  your  regal  disdain  for  all  that 
is  not  within  your  sphere,  —  a  disdain  which  does  not,  in 
you,  exclude  kindness,  for  your  charity  is  that  of  the  angels. 
Louise,  I  love  you  because  you  have  stooped  from  those 
proud  grandeurs  to  comfort  a  poor  exile;  with  a  glance,  a 
gesture,  you  have  consoled  a  man  for  being  so  far  beneath 


112     Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women. 

you  that  he  could  ask  nothing  but  your  pity,  your  generous 
pity.  You  are  the  only  woman  in  the  world  who  has  ever 
softened  for  me  the  hard  indifference  of  her  eyes ;  and  since 
that  beneficent  glance  fell  upon  me  —  on  me  but  a  grain 
of  dust  —  and  I  obtained  that  which  I  never  had  in  my  days 
of  power  and  grandeur,  I  have  longed  to  tell  you,  Louise, 
bow  dear  you  are  to  me,  and  that  I  love  you  for  yourself 
without  one  ulterior  thought;  in  this  I  go  far  beyond  the 
conditions  you  yourself  have  given  to  a  perfect  love. 

Learn,  then,  idol  placed  by  me  in  highest  heaven,  that 
there  is  in  this  world  a  last  descendant  of  the  Saracens 
whose  life  belongs  to  you;  from  whom  you  can  ask  all  as 
from  a  slave ;  who  will  be  honored  in  his  own  eyes  by  doing 
your  bidding.  I  have  given  myself  to  you  forever,  —  solely 
for  the  joy  of  giving  that  self  in  return  for  one  glance,  one 
motion  of  your  hand  stretched  out  one  morning  to  your 
Spanish  teacher.  You  have  a  servant,  Louise,  and  nothing 
else.  No,  I  dare  not  think  that  I  can  ever  be  loved ;  but 
perhaps  you  will  endure  my  presence  because  of  my 
devotion. 

Since  that  morning  when  you  smiled  to  me,  as  a  noble 
maiden  divining  the  wretchedness  of  my  solitary  and  be- 
trayed heart,  I  have  enthroned  you ;  you  are  the  sovereign 
mistress  of  my  life,  the  queen  of  my  thoughts,  the  divinity  of 
my  soul,  the  light  that  shines  within  me,  the  flower  of  my 
flowers,  the  fragrance  of  the  air  I  breathe,  the  richness  of 
my  blood,  the  softness  of  my  slumber.  A  single  thought 
troubles  this  happiness.  You  are  still  ignorant  that  you 
have  beside  you  a  limitless  devotion,  a  faithful  heart,  a 
blind  slave,  a  mute  servant,  a  fortune, —  for  I  am  now  but 
the  depositary  of  all  that  I  possess ;  all  is  yours.  You  do 
not  know  that  you  own  a  heart  to  which  you  can  trust  all ; 


Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women.     113 

the  heart  of  a  parent  from  whom  you  can  ask  all,  to  whom 
you  may  look  by  right  for  protection  ;  the  heart  of  a  friend, 
the  heart  of  a  brother.  All  the  true  sentiments  of  such  hearts 
are  lacking  to  your  life;  I  see  that.  I  have  detected  the 
secret  of  your  home,  your  isolation! 

My  boldness  comes  from  my  desire  to  let  you  see  the 
extent  of  your  possessions.  Accept  all,  Louise ;  in  so  doing 
you  will  give  me  the  only  life  there  is  for  me  in  this  world,  — 
that  of  absolute  devotion.  In  placing  the  badge  of  servitude 
around  my  neck  you  risk  nothing.  I  will  never  ask  anything 
from  you  but  the  happiness  of  knowing  myself  yours.  Do 
not  even  tell  me  that  you  cannot  love  me ;  it  must  be  so,  —  I 
know  that.  I  know  that  I  must  love  from  afar,  without  hope 
and  for  my  love's  sake  only. 

I  would  fain  know  whether  you  consent  to  accept  me  as 
your  servant,  and  I  have  sought  for  some  means  to  make 
this  known  to  me  which  shall  not  infringe  upon  your 
dignity.  Will  you  answer  me  to-morrow  evening  at  the 
opera-house  by  holding  in  your  hand  a  white  and  a  red  camel- 
lia, —  the  image  of  a  man's  blood  at  the  orders  of  a  purity  he 
adores  ;  that  shall  be  my  answer.  At  all  times,  ten  years 
hence,  as  to-morrow,  whatever  you  wish  that  is  possible  for  a 
man  to  do,  shall  be  done  when  you  ask  it  of 
Your  happy  servant, 

Felipe  Henarez. 

My  dear,  please  admit  that  the  great  seigneurs  know 
how  to  love.  He  bounds  like  an  African  lion  !  What 
restrained  ardor,  what  faith,  what  sincerit}^,  what  gran- 
deur of  soul  in  his  humility !  I  felt  very  small,  and  I 
asked  myself  in  a  bewildered  wa}',  "  What 's  to  be  done  ?  " 


114     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women. 

It  is  the  privilege  of  a  great  man  to  upset  all  ordinary 
calculations.  He  is  sublime  and  touching  and  artless 
and  gigantic.  In  one  single  letter  he  has  gone  far 
beyond  all  those  of  Lovelace,  and  Saint-Preux  as  well. 
Oh,  here  's  true  love  !  —  no  shams  or  trickery  here ! 
Love  is  or  is  not ;  and  when  it  is,  it  appears  in  all  its 
immensity. 

So  here  I  am,  compelled  to  lay  aside  my  coquetry. 
Refuse,  or  accept !  I  am  held  between  those  two  terms 
without  a  pretext  to  shelter  irresolution.  All  discussion 
is  denied.  It  is  not  Paris,  it  is  Spain,  it  is  the  East,  — 
yes,  it  is  the  Saracen  who  speaks,  who  kneels  before  the 
Catholic  Eve  and  offers  her  his  scimitar,  his  horse,  his 
head.     Shall  I  accept  this  Moorish  relic? 

Read  and  reread  that  Saracenically  Spanish  letter, 
my  Renee,  and  you  '11  see  that  true  love  is  worth  more 
than  all  the  Judaic  stipulations  of  3'our  philosoph3% 
Renee  !  Renee  your  letter  weighs  on  my  heart ;  3^ou  've 
commonplaced  all  life  for  me.  Why  should  I  mind  you? 
Why  should  I  play  any  such  part  as  3'ou  advise?  Am 
I  not  eternally  mistress  of  this  lion  who  subdues  his 
roars  to  worshipping  sighs  ?  Oh !  but  how  much  he 
must  have  roared  all  to  himself  in  his  den  in  the  rue 
Hillerin-Bertin !  I  know  where  he  lives,  I  have  his 
card :  F.  Baron  de  Macumer. 

Well,  he  has  deprived  me  of  all  chance  of  arguing 
the  matter ;  there  is  nothing  I  can  do  but  fling  those 


Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married    Women.     115 

camellias  at  his  head.  What  infernal  cleverness  love, 
pure,  true,  artless  love,  possesses  !  It  seems  the  noblest 
thing  on  earth  to  the  heart  of  a  poor  woman  helplessly 
reduced  to  simple  and  eas}-  action.  Oh,  the  East ! 
I've  read  the  Arabian  Nights  and  this  is  the  very 
essence  of  it :  two  flowers,  and  all  is  said  !  We  've 
done  fourteen  volumes  of  Clarissa  Harlowe  with  a  single 
posy !  I  twist  and  twirl  before  that  letter,  like  a  bit  of 
twine  in  the  fire.  To  take  or  not  to  take  those  two 
camellias?     Yes,  or  no;  kill,  or  make  alive! 

A  voice  cries  to  me,  "  Test  him !  "  — yes,  I  '11  test 
him. 

XYI. 

SAME   TO   SAME. 

I  AM  dressed  —  in  white,  with  white  camellias  in  my 
hair  and  a  white  camellia  in  my  hand ;  my  mother 
carries  red  ones,  and  I  can  take  one  from  her  if  I  want 
to.  I  have  a  desperate  desire  to  sell  him  his  red  ca- 
mellia at  the  price  of  some  agon}-.  I  shall  hesitate  ;  in 
fact,  I  really  sha'n't  decide  till  I  am  on  the  ground. 

I  am  lovely.  Griffith  begged  me  to  let  her  look  at 
me  for  a  few  minutes.  The  solemnity  of  this  occasion, 
the  drama  of  this  consent,  has  brought  the  color  into 
my  cheeks.  I  've  two  red  camellias  there  side  by  side 
with  the  white  ones. 


116     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women. 

One  o'clock. 

I  was  much  admired  ;  but  one  man  adored  me.  He 
dropped  his  head  on  his  breast  when  he  saw  the  white 
camellia  in  my  hand ;  but  I  saw  him  turn  as  white  as 
the  flower  itself  when  I  took  a  red  camellia  from 
my  mother*s  bunch.  To  come  with  the  two  flowers 
might  have  been  accidental,  but  the  action  of  taking 
one  was  an  answer ;  it  was  even  beyond  what  was 
asked  of  me.  The  opera  was  "Romeo  and  Juliet;" 
but  as  you  don't  know  what  the  duet  between  the  two 
lovers  is,  you  can't  understand  the  happiness  of  two 
neophytes  of  love  as  they  listened  to  that  divine 
expression  of  tenderness. 

I  Ve  gone  to  bed  listening  to  steps  pacing  the  side- 
walk of  the  boulevard.  Oh !  my  dear  angel,  fire  is  in 
my  heart,  in  my  head.  What  is  he  doing?  what  is  he 
thinking  ?  Has  he  thoughts  that  I  know  nothing  of  ? 
Will  he  really  be  the  slave  forever  he  talks  about? 
How  can  I  make  sure  ?  Can  he  have  the  slightest  feel- 
ing in  his  heart  that  my  acceptance  lacked  dignity? 
W'hat  is  he  thinking,  in  short  ?  I  am  delivered  over  to 
the  quibbling  discussions  of  those  women  of  "  The 
Grand  Cyrus''  —  to  all  the  subtleties  of  the  Courts  of 
Love.  Does  he  know  that  in  love  the  shghtest  actions 
of  women  are  the  result  of  a  world  of  reflections,  in- 
ward struggles,  lost  victories  ?  Oh,  what  is  he  thinking 
of  at  this  moment  ?    How  can  I  reach  him  ?  how  can 


Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married   Women.     117 

I  order  him  to  write  me  every  evening  the  history  of 
his  day?  He  is  my  slave,  and  I  can  make  him  do  what 
I  choose.     Yes,  I  '11  overwhelm  him  with  work. 

Sunday  morning. 
I   could   not   sleep  till  morning.     It  is  now  twelve 
o'clock  and  I  have  made  GriflSth  write  the  following 
letter : — 

To  Monsieur  le  Baron  de  Macumer: 

Mademoiselle  de  Chaulieu  desires  me,  Monsieur  le  baron, 
to  request  that  you  will  return  to  me  the  copy  of  a  letter,  writ- 
ten to  her  by  one  of  her  friends  and  copied  in  her  handwrit- 
ing, which  you  have  carried  away  with  you. 
Receive,  etc. 

S.  Griffith. 

My  dear,  GriflSth  departed  to  the  rue  Hillerin-Bertin ; 
she  gave  her  missive  to  my  slave,  who  returned  my 
epistle  in  an  envelope ;  it  was  stained  with  tears ! 
Oh !  my  dear,  he  must  have  cared  for  it ;  but  he 
obej'ed  me.  Any  other  man  would  have  refused,  and 
written  me  a  charming  letter  full  of  flatteries.  But  the 
Saracen  did  what  he  promised  to  do, — he  obeyed;  I 
cried  about  it. 


118     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married   Women. 


XYII. 

SAME   TO    SAME. 

April  2, 

Yesterday  the  weather  was  superb ;  I  dressed  myself 
like  a  girl  beloved  who  wants  to  please.  My  father  has 
given  me,  at  m3'^  request,  the  prettiest  little  equipage 
3'ou  can  imagine,  —  dapple-gray  horses  and  a  caleche 
of  the  utmost  elegance.  I  tried  it  to-day  for  the  first 
time.  I  must  say  I  looked  like  a  flower  under  a  parasol 
lined  with  white  silk. 

As  I  drove  up  the  Avenue  des  Champs-Elysees  I 
saw  my  Abencerrage  riding  toward  me  on  a  horse  of 
wonderful  beauty.  The  men  (who  nowadays  make 
themselves  look  like  grooms)  all  stopped  to  look  at 
him.  He  bowed  to  me,  and  I  made  him  a  little  sign  of 
encouragement ;  he  slackened  his  pace  beside  the  car- 
riage so  that  I  was  able  to  say :  — 

''I  hope  you  were  not  annoyed,  Monsieur  le  baron, 
that  I  asked  for  that  letter?  It  must  be  useless  to  j^ou, 
for,"  I  added  in  a  low  voice,  *'you  have  gone  be- 
yond its  programme.  You  have  a  horse  there  which 
makes  you  very  conspicuous."  "  yiy  bailiff  in  Sardinia 
sent  him  to  me,"  he  replied.  *'  The  horse  has  an 
Arabian  pedigree,  and  was  raised  on  my  estate." 

This  morning,  my  dear,  Macumer  rode  an  English 


Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married   Women.     119 

horse,  a  chestnut,  very  handsome  though  it  did  not 
excite  the  same  attention.  My  few  words  of  sarcasm 
had  sufficed.  The  Due  d'Angouleme  has  bought  the 
Arabian.  My  slave  saw  that  he  was  stepping  out  of 
the  simplicitj^  I  required  by  drawing  the  attention  of 
the  crowd  upon  him.  A  man  should  be  remarked  for 
himself,  and  never  for  his  horse  or  the  things  about 
him.  To  ride  too  showy  a  horse  seems  to  me  as  ridi- 
culous as  to  wear  a  great  diamond  in  one's  shirt.  I  was. 
delighted  to  catch  him  in  a  fault,  —  though  perhaps  a 
little  vanity  might  be  permitted  to  a  poor  exile. 

All  this  nonsense  pleases  me.  Oh !  m}^  dear  old 
philosopher,  do  please  enjoy  my  loves  in  return  for  the 
long  faces  I  pull  over  3'our  gloomy  reasonings.  Dear 
Philip  the  Second  in  petticoats,  sit  here  beside  me  in 
m}"  prett}^  carriage  ;  do  j^ou  see  the  velvet  glance,  hum- 
ble, but  intense,  proud  of  its  servitude,  which  a  man 
with  a  red  camellia  (my  livery)  casts  upon  me  as  he 
passes  ?  What  a  light  love  casts  !  How  clear  are  all 
things  to  me  now  !  How  well  I  read  my  Paris  !  I  see 
the  wit  and  wisdom  of  it  now !  Yes,  love  is  sweeter, 
grander,  more  charming  here  than  elsewhere.  I  know 
now  that  I  could  never,  never  torment  a  fool  nor  gain 
the  slightest  empire  over  one.  It  takes  a  brilliant  man 
to  understand  us,  and  on  no  other  can  we  pla}^  as  on 
an  instrument.  Oh  !  poor  friend,  I  forgot !  forgive  me, 
there  's  your  I'Estorade  ;  but  then,  did  n't  3'ou  tell  me 


120     Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married   Women. 

you  were  going  to  make  a  genius  of  him  ?  Ah,  I  begin 
to  see  wh}" !  3'ou  are  bringing  him  up  on  a  bottle  to 
make  him  brilliant  enough  to  understand  you  some 
day.     AdieUj. adieu  ;  I  'm  silly,  so  I  won't  continue. 


XVIII. 

MADAME  DE  l'  ESTORADE  TO  LOUISE  DE  CHAULIEU. 

Dear  angel,  —  Though  T  ought  to  say  dear  demon, 
—  3^ou  have  grieved  me  without  intending  it ;  if  we 
were  not  one  and  the  same  soul  I  should  say  you  had 
wounded  me ;  but  we  can't  wound  ourselves,  you 
know. 

How  plainly  I  see  that  you  have  never  once  let  your 
thoughts  rest  seriously  on  that  word  indissoluble, 
applied  to  the  contract  which  binds  a  woman  to  a  man. 
I  don't  wish  to  contradict  philosophers  and  legislators  ; 
they  are  fully  able  to  contradict  themselves  ;  but,  dear- 
est, this  I  must  say  :  by  rendering  marriage  irrevocable 
and  by  imposing  on  all  an  identical  and  pitiless  rule, 
they  have  made  of  each  union  a  thing  by  itself  abso- 
lutely dissimilar  from  other  unions,  as  dissimilar  as 
individuals  are  among  themselves.  Each  has  its  differ- 
ent internal  laws ;  country  married  life,  where  two 
beings  are  forced  to  live  perpetually  in  each  other's 
presence,  is  not  the  same  as  city  married  life,  which 


Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married   Women.     121 

distractions  color.  A  household  in  Paris,  where  life 
rushes  on  like  a  torrent,  cannot  be  the  same  as  a  home 
in  the  provinces,  where  life  is  less  agitated.  If  condi- 
tions vary  with  places,  how  much  more  do  the}^  vary 
according  to  natures.  The  wife  of  a  man  of  genius  has 
only  to  let  him  guide  her,  while  the  wife  of  a  fool  must 
take  the  reins  and  feel  herself  the  more  intelligent  of 
the  two,  under  pain  of  incurring  great  misfortunes. 
Perhaps,  after  all,  reason  and  reflection  do  lead  to  what 
is  called  vitiation  —  if  vitiation,  for  us,  is  the  introduc- 
tion of  calculation  into  feelings.  A  passion  which 
reasons  is  vitiated ;  it  is  beautiful  only  when  sponta- 
neous, involuntar}',  in  one  of  those  fine  gushes  of 
feeling  which  exclude  all  egotism. 

Ah !  sooner  or  later,  my  dearest,  you  will  say  to 
yourself:  "  Yes,  deception  is  as  necessary  to  a  woman 
as  her  corset,  if  by  deception  is  meant  the  silence  of 
her  who  has  the  courage  to  hold  her  tongue,  if  by 
deception  is  meant  the  wise  calculation  of  the  future. 
All  married  women  learn  to  their  cost  that  social  laws 
are  incompatible  in  many  points  with  the  laws  of 
nature.  "We  might  have  a  dozen  children  by  marrying 
as  young  as  we  are  now  ;  and  if  we  had  them  it  would 
be  a  crime :  we  should  bring  into  the  world  twelve 
sorrows ;  we  should  deliver  over  twelve  sweet  beings 
to  poverty  and  despair,  —  whereas  two  children  are 
two  happinesses,  two  benefits,  two  creations  in  har- 


122     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married   Women. 

rnony  with  the  manners,  customs,  and  laws  of  the 
present  time.  Natural  law  and  the  Code  are  antago- 
nistic, and  we  women  are  the  ground  on  which  they 
fight.  Do  you  apply  the  word  calculation  to  the 
wisdom  of  a  wife  who  feels  bound  to  watch  that  the 
family  is  not  ruined  tlirough  her?  That  is  a  calculation 
which  3^ou  will  see  for  yourself  some  day,  Baronne  de 
Macumer,  when  you  are  the  proud  and  happy  wife  of 
the  man  who  adores  you.  Or  rathier,  that  superior 
man  will  save  you  the  calculation  by  making  it  for  you. 

You  see,  my  dear,  heedless  one,  that  I  have  studied 
the  Code  in  its  relations  to  conjugal  love  on  behalf  of 
both  of  us.  You  will  some  day  know  that  we  must 
give  account  to  none  but  ourselves  and  God  of  the 
means  we  employ  to  perpetuate  happiness  in  the  bosom 
of  our  homes.  Better  the  judgment  and  the  calcula- 
tion exercised  in  that  than  unreflecting  love  which 
ends  in  weariness,  in  estrangement,  in  disunion.  Ah ! 
my  dear,  we  have  many  sublime  lies  to  act  in  order  to 
be  the  noble  creatures  we  should  be  in  fulfilling  our 
duty. 

You  tax  me  with  calculation,  that  is,  with  duplicity, 
because  I  hold  myself  in  reserve  with  Louis  ;  but  may 
not  too  intimate  and  familiar  a  knowledge  be  the  cause 
of  disunion?  I  do  try  to  occupy  him  much  in  order  to 
distract  him  from  mcj  and  I  do  it  for  his  own  happi- 
ness ;  that  is  surelj"  not  an  evil  calculation.     If  ten^ 


Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women.     123 

derness  is  inexhaustible,  the  passion  of  love  is  not ;  and 
it  is,  believe  me,  Louise,  a  true  enterprise  for  an  honest 
woman  to  wisel}'  distribute  it  over  the  whole  of  life. 

At  the  risk  of  seeming  execrable  to  you,  I  must  tell 
3'ou  that  I  persist  in  my  principles,  and  think  them  very 
grand  and  very  generous.  Virtue,  my  darling,  is  a 
principle  which  shows  itself  differently  according  to  its 
surroundings ;  the  virtue  of  Provence,  and  that  of 
Constantinople,  and  of  London,  and  of  Paris,  have 
totally  dissimilar  appearances  without  ceasing  to  be 
virtue.  The  fabric  of  every  human  life  is  woven  of 
threads  unlike  those  of  its  neighbors,  though  seen  at 
a  certain  height  they  all  look  alike.  If  I  wished  to  see 
Louis  unhapp}^,  and  bring  about  an  eventual  separation 
both  of  body  and  mind,  I  should  cease  to  maintain  mj^ 
own  being,  and  should  put  myself  at  his  bidding.  I 
have  not  had,  like  you,  the  happiness  of  meeting  with  a 
superior  man,  but  perhaps  I  ma}'  have  the  pleasure  of 
making  him  one.  Yes,  I  '11  give  you  a  rendezvous  five 
years  hence  in  Paris,  and  then  perhaps  you  will  tell  me 
that  I  was  mistaken,  and  that  Louis  de  I'Estorade  was 
always  a  remarkable  man. 

As  for  these  glories  of  love,  these  great  emotions 
which  I  feel  only  through  you,  as  for  those  nocturnal 
perches  in  elm-trees  b}^  moonlight,  with  all  their 
accompanying  adoration  and  worship,  I  knew  I  must 
renounce  all  that.    Yes,  my  Louise,  your  blooming  into 


124     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women. 

life  is  to  be  what  3'ou  choose  to  make  it ;  mine  is  cir- 
cumscribed, it  is  "bounded  by  La  Crampade ;  and  yet 
you  reproach  me  for  the  precautions  which  my  poor 
little,  fragile  happiness  requires  in  order  to  be  rich  and 
lasting  and  sacred !  I  wish  to  put  the  graces  of  love 
into  wifehood,  and  you  have  almost  made  me  blush  for 
myself.  Which  of  us  two  is  right,  which  wrong?  Per- 
haps we  are  both  right  and  both  wrong;  perhaps 
society  sells  our  laces  and  our  titles  and  our  children 
very  dear  to  us. 

I  too,  have  my  red  camellias ;  they  are  on  my  lips, 
they  blossom  in  smiles  for  the  two  beings,  father  and 
son,  to  whom  I  am  devoted,  slave  and  mistress  both. 
But  oh !  my  dearest,  your  last  letters  have  made  me 
feel  what  I  have  lost.  They  have  taught  me  the  extent 
of  the  sacrifices  of  a  married  woman.  I  had  never 
seriously  looked  at  that  broad,  free,  beautiful  expanse 
in  which  you  are  now  bounding,  and  I  don't  deny  that 
a  tear  or  two  came  into  my  ej^es  as  I  read  j^our  account 
of  it.  But  a  little  regret  doesn't  mean  a  change  of 
opinion,  though  it  may  be  cousin-german  to  it !  You 
say  marriage  has  made  me  a  philosopher.  Alas  !  no  ; 
I  felt  this  when  those  tears  came  as  I  read  of  j'ou, 
swept  onward  in  a  torrent  of  love.  But  my  father 
made  me  read  one  of  the  most  profound  writers  of  our 
time,  the  man  who  has  inherited  Bossuet's  mantle,  — a 
stern  teacher,  whose  pages  compel  conviction.     While 


Meinoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women.     125 

30U  have  been  reading  "  Corinne,"  I  have  been  read- 
ing Bonald,  and  there  's  the  whole  secret  of  m}^  phi- 
losophy ;  the  Family,  sacred  and  strong,  has  appeared 
like  a  vision  before  me.  I  swear  by  Bonald  that  your 
father  was  right  in  what  he  preached  to  3'ou. 

Adieu,  my  dear  imagination,  my  friend,  you  who  are 
my  romance,  my  ecstasy  ! 


XIX. 


You  are  a  love  of  a  woman,  my  Renee  ;  and  now  I  '11 
agree  that  it  is  fair  and  honest  to  be  deceitful  and 
calculating ;  will  that  satisfy  you  ?  Besides,  the  man 
who  loves  us  belongs  to  us,  —  we  have  the  right  to  make 
him  a  fool  or  a  man  of  genius ;  between  ourselves,  we 
generally  make  a  fool  of  hira.  You  are  going  to  make 
yours  a  man  of  genius,  and  conceal  how  you  do  it ;  two 
magnificent  performances  !  Ah,  if  there  were  no  para- 
dise you  'd  be  well  caught ;  for  you  are  devoting  your- 
self to  voluntary  martyrdom.  You  are  trying  to  render 
your  man  ambitious,  and  to  keep  him  loving.  Child 
that  3^ou  are  !  is  n't  it  enough  for  you  to  keep  him 
loving?  How  far  is  calculation  virtue,  or  is  virtue 
calculation,  hey  ?  Well,  we  won't  quarrel  over  that  ques- 
tion ;-  as  Bonald  is  living  we  can  refer  it  to  him.    We 


126     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married   Women. 

are,  and  we  intend  to  be,  virtuous,  but  oh,  Renee,  at 
this  moment  I  think  that  in  spite  of  your  philosophical 
rascality,  you  are  better  than  I. 

Yes,  I  *m  a  horribly  deceitful  girl ;  I  love  Felipe,  and 
I  hide  it  from  him  with  infamous  dissimulation.  I  'd 
give  anything  to  see  him  jump  from  that  tree  to  the  top 
of  the  wall,  and  from  the  wall  to  my  balcony ;  and  if 
he  did,  I  should  annihilate  him  with  my  disdain.  You 
see  how  terribly  truthful  I  can  be.  What  stops  me 
from  being  as  true  to  him?  What  power  hinders  me 
from  telling  that  dear  Felipe  the  happiness  his  love  — 
his  pure,  entire,  lofty,  secret,  overflowing  love  —  has 
poured  in  floods  into  mj^  heart? 

Madame  de  Mirbel  is  painting  a  miniature  of  me ; 
when  finished,  I  mean  to  give  it  to  him,  my  dear. 

A  thing  that  surprises  me  every  day,  more  and 
more,  is  the  activity  which  love  brings  into  life.  What 
Interest  there  is  in  every  hour,  every  action,  in  the 
least  little  things !  and  what  a  delightful  jumbling  of 
past  and  future  in  the  present !  We  live  in  all  three 
tenses  of  the  verb.  Will  this  last  always?  Oh! 
answer  me ;  tell  me  what  happiness  is ;  does  it  calm,  or 
irritate  ?    I  am  filled  with  a  mortal  uneasiness ;  I  don't 


know  how  to  behave ;  I  feel,  in  my  heart,  a  power 
which  is  dragging  me  toward  him,  in  spite  of  reason 
and  all  social  conventions.  The  contentment  Felipe 
shows  in  being  mine,  his  love  at  a  distance,  his  obedi- 


Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married   Women.     127 

ence  irritate  me,  just  as  bis  profound  respect  irritated 
when  he  was  only  my  Spanish  teacher.  I  feel  inclined 
to  cry  out  as  he  rides  past  me:  "Idiot!  if  you  love 
the  mere  outside  of  me,  what  would  it  be  if  you  knew 
me  truly  ?  " 

Oh !  Renee,  I  hope  you  burn  my  letters !  I  '11  burn 
all  yours.  If  other  eyes  than  our  own  should  read  these 
thoughts  that  go  from  my  heart  to  yours,  I'd  send 
Felipe  to  tear  them  out, —  or  kill  their  owners  for  better 
safety. 

Monday. 

Ah  !  Renee,  how  can  we  sound  a  man's  heart?  My 
father  is  to  bring  your  Vicomte  de  Bonald  to  the  house 
and  present  him  to  me,  and  I  '11  ask  him  that  question ; 
if  he  is  so  wise  he  certainly  can  answer  it.  God  is 
fortunate  in  being  able  to  read  all  hearts.  Am  I  still 
an  angel  to  that  man  ?     That 's  the  whole  question. 

If  ever,  in  look,  or  gesture,  or  tone  of  a  word,  I 
perceived  the  slightest  diminution  of  the  respect  he  felt 
for  me  when  he  was  my  teacher  of  languages,  I  feel  I 
have  the  strength  to  throw  the  whole  thing  over  and 
forget  him.  "  Why  these  grand  words,  these  mighty 
resolutions  ?  "  I  hear  j^ou  say.  Ah  !  that 's  just  it,  my 
dear ;  something  has  happened. 

My  charming  father,  who  behaves  to  me  exactly  like 
an  old  cavaliers  servente  to  an  Italian  woman,  has  had, 
as  I  told  you,  my  portrait  painted  by  Madame  de  Mir- 


128     Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women. 

bel.  I  managed,  however,  to  have  a  good  copy  made  for 
the  duke,  and  I  sent  the  original  to  Felipe.  The  minia- 
ture went  3'esterday,  together  with  these  few  words  :  — 

"Don  Felipe,  your  absolute  devotion  is  accepted  in 
blind  confidence.  Time  will  show  whether  this  is  not 
attributing  too  much  nobility  to  a  man." 

The  gift  was  great ;  it  looks  like  a  promise  and,  oh 
horrors  !  an  invitation  ;  but,  what  you  will  think  worse 
still,  I  wanted  it  to  express  a  promise  and  an  invita- 
tion without  going  so  far  as  to  give  them.  If  in 
his  answer  there  is  a  single  "my  Louise"  or  even 
"  Louise,"  he  is  lost. 

Tuesday. 
No  I  he  's  not  lost.    This  Spanish  grandee  of  mine  is 
an  adorable  lover.     Here  is  his  letter :  — 

"  Every  moment  that  I  pass  without  seeing  you  is  never- 
theless filled  with  you,  I  close  my  eyes  to  all  things  else 
and  fasten  them  in  meditation  on  your  image.  For  all  time 
they  will  rest  upon  that  marvellous  ivory  —  that  talisman,  I 
should  say  —  where  your  blue  eyes  speak,  and  art  becomes 
reality.  The  delay  of  this  letter  is  caused  by  my  enjoyment 
of  that  contemplation  in  which  I  said  to  you  all  that  I  must 
here  restrain. 

"  Yes,  since  yesterday,  alone  with  you,  I  have  yielded 
myself  up,  for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  to  complete,  entire, 
infinite  happiness.  If  you  could  see  where  I  have  placed 
you  —  between  the  Virgin  and  God  —  you  would  understand 


Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women.     129 

the  emotions  in  which  I  have  passed  the  night.  But  I  "will 
not  tell  them  to  you  lest  I  offend  you ;  it  would  be  torture  to 
me  to  receive  one  glance  devoid  of  that  angelic  kindness 
which  is  now  my  life. 

"  If  —  if,  queen  of  my  heart  and  life,  you  would  deign  to 
grant  me  a  thousandth  part  of  the  love  I  feel  for  you  1  The 
if  of  that  constant  prayer  plays  havoc  with  my  soul.  I  am 
torn  between  belief  and  fear,  between  life  and  death,  between 
light  and  darkness. 

"  A  criminal  is  not  more  agitated  while  the  verdict  is 
deliberated  than  I  am  while  I  write  these  words.  The  smile 
upon  your  lips,  to  which  I  look  at  every  moment,  alone  can 
calm  the  fear  I  feel  of  displeasing  you.  Since  I  came  into 
the  world,  no  one,  not  even  my  mother,  has  ever  smiled  upon 
me.  The  beautiful  young  girl  who  was  destined  to  be  my 
wife  repulsed  my  heart  and  loved  my  brother.  My  efforts 
as  a  statesman  were  defeated.  1  saw  in  the  eyes  of  my  king 
only  hatred  and  a  desire  for  vengeance.  AVe  were  enemies 
from  our  youth  up  ;  he  considered  as  a  mortal  insult  to  him- 
self, the  vote  by  which  the  Cortes  raised  me  to  power.  How- 
ever strong  a  soul  may  be,  doubt  will  at  least  enter  it. 
Besides,  I  know  myself  ;  I  know  the  ill  grace  of  my  appear- 
ance; I  feel  how  difficult  it  is  to  estimate  a  heart  through 
such  a  covering.  To  be  loved,  —  it  had  passed  into  a  dream 
before  I  met  you.  When  I  attached  myself  to  you  I  knew 
that  devotion,  the  devotion  that  expects  nothing,  could  alone 
excuse  me. 

"  As  I  contemplate  your  portrait,  as  I  drink  in  that  smile 
so  full  of  divine  promises,  a  hope  that  I  will  not  listen  to 
shines  upon  my  soul.  The  light  of  dawn  is  struggling  with 
the  night  of  doubt.  I  fear  to  offend  you  by  suffering  it  to 
break. 

9 


130     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women. 

"No,  you  cannot  love  me  yet,  I  feel  it.  But,  little  by 
little,  as  you  learn  the  power,  the  duration,  the  extent  of  my 
unspeakable  affection,  you  will  grant  it  a  little  place  in  your 
life.  If  my  ambition  offends  you,  tell  me  so  without  anger, 
and  I  will  drive  it  back  into  my  heart.  But  if  you  will  try 
to  love  me  do  not  let  me  know  of  it  unless  you  are  certain ; 
for  the  'happiness  of  my  whole  life  lies  in  serving  you  —  you 
only." 

My  dear,  in  reading  those  last  words  I  thought  I  saw 
him  as  pale  as  he  was  that  night  when,  by  taking  the 
camellias,  I  showed  that  I  accepted  his  devotion.  I  read 
in  these  submissive  phrases  something  other  than  the 
flowers  of  rhetoric  which  every  lover  uses,  and  I  felt  a 
great  commotion  in  myself,  —  I  breathed  the  breath  of 
happiness. 

The  weather  is  shocking ;  it  is  impossible  to  drive 
out  without  giving  rise  to  suspicion ;  even  my  mother, 
who  often  goes  out  in  the  rain,  has  had  to  stay  at 
home. 

Wednesday  evening. 
I  have  just  seen  him  at  the  Opera.  My  dear,  he  is 
no  longer  the  same  man.  He  came  to  our  box  with  the 
Spanish  ambassador,  who  presented  him.  After  looking 
in  my  eyes  and  seeing  that  his  audacity  did  not  dis- 
please me,  he  seemed  not  to  know  what  to  do  with  his 
arms  and  legs,  and  he  called  Madame  d'Espard  "  made- 
moiselle."   But  his  e3'es  flashed  a  brighter  light  than 


Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women.     131 

that  of  the  chandeliers.  At  last  he  went  away,  as  if  he 
feared  to  commit  some  follj'. 

"The  Baron  de  Macumer  is  in  love,"  said  Madame 
de  Maufrigneuse  to  m}^  mother. 

"  That  would  be  strange  in  a  fallen  minister,"  replied 
my  mother. 

I  had  the  strength  to  look  at  Madame  d'Espard, 
Madame  de  Maufrigneuse,  and  my  mother  with  the  curi- 
osity of  a  person  who  does  not  understand  a  foreign 
language  and  is  trying. to  guess  what  is  being  said  ;  but 
inwardly  I  was  grasped  by  a  passionate  }oy,  in  which,  it 
seemed  to  me,  my  soul  was  bathing.  There  is  but  one 
word  to  express  what  I  feel,  —  rapture.  Felipe  loves 
so  truly  that  I  think  him  worthy  to  be  loved.  I  am  the 
principle  of  his  life,  and  I  hold  in  ni}-  hand  the  thread 
that  guides  his  thought.  And  now  (as  3'ou  and  I 
must  tell  the  whole  truth  to  each  other)  I  feel  a  violent 
desire  to  have  him  surmount  all  barriers  to  reach  me 
and  demand  of  me  to  be  his.  I  want  this  in  order  that 
I  may  know  whether  his  passionate  love  could  be 
calmed  and  humbled  by  a  look. 

Ah !  my  dear,  I  stop,  trembling.  I  hear  a  step,  a 
noise  without.  Yes,  from  my  window  I  can  see  him 
on  the  wall,  risking  his  life. 

I  made  but  one  sign  ;  he  sprang  from  the  wall,  which 
is  ten  feet  high,  and  ran  down  the  road  to  a  spot  where 
I  could  see  him,  as  if  to  show  me  he  was  not  hurt. 


132     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women. 

This  care  for  my  feelings,  when  he  must  have  been 
quite  giddy  from  his  fall,  touched  me  so  much  that  I 
am  crying,  though  I  don't  know  why.  Poor  ugly 
man !  wh}^  was  he  there  ?  What  did  he  want  to  say 
to  me? 

I  dare  not  write  any  more  of  my  thoughts.  I  will  go 
to  bed  and  dream  of  ]oy,  and  of  all  that  yo\i  and  I 
would  say  to  each  other  were  we  together.  Adieu, 
dear  silent  one.  I  have  no  time  now  to  scold  you  for 
your  silence,  but  it  is  a  whole  month  since  I  heard  from 
you.     What  has  happened  in  the  mean  time? 


XX. 

MADAME   DE    l'eSTORADE   TO    LOUISE    DE    CHAULIEU. 

May. 

If  love  is  the  life  of  the  world,  whj^  have  stern  phi- 
losophers suppressed  it  in  marriage  ?  Why  does  society 
make  it  a  law  to  sacrifice  the  Woman  to  the  Familj^, 
creating  thus  a  secret  struggle  in  the  bosom  of  marriage, 
—  a  struggle  which  society  foresaw  as  so  dangerous 
that  it  has  invented  powers  with  which  to  arm  the  man 
against  us.  I  see  in  marriage  two  opposing  forces 
which  legislators  ought  to  have  united.  Can  they  be 
united?  that  is  the  question  I  ask  myself  as  I  read  your 
letters.     Ah  !  dearest,  a  single  one  of  those  letters  is 


Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women.     133 

enough  to  ruin  the  edifice  built  up  with  so  much  care 
by  my  great  writer,  —  an  edifice  in  which  I  was  shelter- 
ing myself  with  quiet  satisfaction  ! 

The  laws  were  made  by  old  men,  and  women  know 
it.  They  have  sagelj^  decreed  that  conjugal  love  exempt 
from  passion  does  not  degrade  us,  and  that  a  woman 
ought  to  give  herself  without  love  when  the  law  permits 
a  man  to  make  her  his.  Concerned  onl}'  for  the  Family, 
they  have  imitated  Nature,  whose  sole  purpose  is  to 
perpetuate  the  species.  I  was  a  being  formerly,  I  am 
now  a  thing !  More  than  one  tear  have  I  shed  in 
secret.  Louise,  how  is  it  that  our  destinies  are  so 
unlike?  With  you,  love  will  enlarge  3'our  soul,  3'our 
virtue  will  lie  in  passion ;  your  duty,  if  you  marry 
Felipe,  will  be  the  sweetest,  the  most  expansive  of  all 
sentiments.  Where  lies  the  meaning  of  this  difference 
in  our  fates?  Our  future  is  big  with  the  answer;  I 
await  it  with  feverish  curiosit}'.  You  love,  3'ou  are 
adored  ;  oh !  dearest,  give  yourself  wholly  to  that  beau- 
tiful poem  we  studied  so  much.  The  beaut}'  of  woman, 
so  delicate,  so  spiritualized  in  3'ou,  was  surel}^  given  b3^ 
God  that  she  might  charm  and  please,  —  that  must  be 
His  design. 

Nevertheless,  my  dearest,  keep  back  the  secret  of 
3^our  tenderness ;  subject  Fehpe  to  those  subtle  tests 
we  so  often  talked  of,  and  learn  if  he  is  worthy  of  3'ou. 
Above  all,  ask  yourself  if  you  love  him  even  more  than 


134     Memoirs  of  Tv:o  Young  Married  Women. 

he  loves  yon.  Louise,  you  are  still  free ;  do  not  risk 
the  dangerous  bargain  of  an  irrevocable  marriage  with- 
out security,  I  implore  j'ou.  Sometimes  a  gesture,  a 
word,  a  look  in  a  conversation  without  witnesses,  when 
souls  are  off  their  guard  and  stripped  of  worldly  hypoc- 
risies, reveal  great  precipices. 

You  do  not  know  with  what  anxiety  I  think  of  you. 
In  spite  of  distance  I  see  you,  I  hear  you,  I  feel  all 
that  3'ou  are  feeling.  Do  not  fail  to  write  to  me  and 
tell  me  all ;  omit  nothing.  Your  letters  bring  passion- 
ate emotions  to  my  simple,  tranquil  life,  unvaried  as  a 
high-road.  The  most  that  happens  here,  my  dearest,  is 
a  sort  of  game  that  I  play  with  myself,  passing  alter- 
nately from  discouragement  to  hope ;  but  I  will  write 
of  this  later.  Perhaps  I  have  asked  more  happiness  of 
life  than  life  can  give.  I  suppose  we  must  when  young 
be  always  trying  to  make  the  real  and  the  ideal  har- 
monize. My  reflections,  and  at  this  moment  I  am 
making  them  in  solitude,  sitting  under  the  shadow  of  a 
rock  in  my  park,  have  brought  me  to  think  that  love 
in  marriage  is  an  accident,  on  which  it  is  impossible  to 
base  a  law  which  could  or  should  rule  all.  M3'  philos- 
opher of  the  Aveyron,  Bonald,  has  good  reason  to  con- 
sider the  Famih'  the  onlj^  possible  social  unit}-,  and  to 
make  woman  subject  to  it,  as  she  has  been  through  all 
time.  The  solution  of  this  great  question,  terrible  for 
us,  lies,  I  beUeve,  in  our  first  child.     For  this  reason, 


Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women.     135 

I  desire  to  be  a  mother,  —  if  only  to  give  food  to  the 
craving  activity  of  my  soul. 

Louis  is  always  most  adorably  kind ;  his  love  is 
active,  and  my  tenderness  is  abstract ;  he  is  happy ; 
he  gathers  his  flowers,  and  pays  no  heed  to  the  earth 
that  produces  them.  Happy  egotism !  No  matter  what 
it  costs  me,  I  lend  myself  to  all  his  illusions,  just  as  a 
mother  (according  to  mj^  ideas  of  motherhood)  wearies 
herself  to  give  pleasure  to  her  child.  In  fact,  the  little 
familiar  name  by  which  I  call  him  in  our  home  is  "  my 
child."  I  await  the  fruit  of  all  vny  sacrifices,  which  are 
a  secret  between  God  and  3'Ou  and  me.  Maternity  is 
an  enterprise  in  which  I  have  opened  an  enormous 
credit ;  it  owes  me  so  much  that  I  fear  it  can  never  pay 
me  in  full ;  it  is  charged  with  developing  my  energy, 
enlarging  my  heart,  and  compensating  me  for  all  things 
by  illimitable  joj's.  Oh !  my  God,  grant  I  be  not  de- 
frauded !  there  lies  all  my  future,  and  —  oh,  terrifying 
thought !  —  my  virtue. 


XXI. 

LOUISE   DB  CHAULIEU  TO   MADAME   DE  l'eSTORADE. 

June, 
My  dear    married   darling,  —  Your  letter  came 
just  in  time  to  justify  me  to  mjself  for  a  daring  per- 


136     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women. 

formance  on  which  I  have  been  thinking  night  and  day. 
I  certainly  have  a  craving  for  unknown,  or,  if  you 
choose  to  say  so,  forbidden  things,  which  makes  me 
rather  uneasy,  for  it  is  the  sign  of  a  war  going  on  with- 
in me  between  the  laws  of  the  world  and  those  of 
nature.  I  don't  know  if  nature  in  me  is  stronger  than 
society,  but  I  often  catch  myself  making  compromises 
between  those  two  powers. 

Well,  to  speak  plainly,  I  wanted  to  talk  with  Felipe, 
alone,  at  night,  under  the  lindens  in  the  garden.  Most 
assuredly  that  wish  makes  me  deserve  the  name  of 
"  sly  puss "  the  duchess  bestowed  upon  me.  Never- 
theless, I  think  it  a  very  prudent  and  wise  proceeding. 
While  rewarding  the  many  nights  he  has  spent  at  the 
foot  of  my  wall,  I  should  be  able  to  find  out  what 
Felipe  thought  of  m}^  proceeding,  and  that  would  give 
me  a  clue  to  judge  him  by.  If  he  worships  that  wrong 
proceeding  at  a  respectful  distance,  he  shall  be  my  hus- 
band ;  if  he  is  not  even  more  respectful  and  trembling 
than  when  he  bows  to  me  on  horseback  in  the  Champs- 
Ely  sees,  I  will  never  see  him  again. 

As  for  the  world,  I  risk  less  in  seeing  my  lover  in 
this  way  than  by  smiling  on  him  in  the  salons  of 
Madame  de  Maufrigneuse  or  Madame  de  Beauseant, 
where  we  are  surrounded  by  spies ;  for  God  knows 
how  they  would  watch  a  girl  suspected  of  noticing  a 
man  like  Macumer.    But  oh !  if  you  only  knew  how 


Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women.       137 

agitated  I  was  in  m}'  own  mind  while  I  imagined  this 
scheme,  and  tried  to  think  of  some  way  to  carry  it  out. 
I  did  so  regret  3'ou  were  not  here ;  we  might  have 
talked  it  over  for  hours,  lost  in  a  labyrinth  of  uncer- 
tainty, and  fancying  all  sorts  of  things  in  a  first  inter- 
view, alone,  by  night,  in  shade  and  silence,  beneath 
the  lindens  silvered  with  such  a  moon !  —  oh,  think 
of  it !  But  I  had  to  tremble  and  palpitate  all  alone, 
saj'ing  to  myself,  ''  Oh  !  Renee,  where  are  you?"  So 
when  your  letter  came,  it  fired  the  powder  and  my  last 
scruples  were  blown  up.  I  threw  my  adorer  a  little 
note  containing  a  key  to  the  garden  gate  and  these 
words :  — 

"  It  is  desirable  to  prevent  you  from  committing  further 
follies.  By  breaking  your  neck  you  will  injure  the  reputa- 
tion of  the  person  you  say  you  love.  Are  you  worthy  of 
another  proof  of  esteem?  Do  you  deserve  to  be  spoken  to 
to-morrow  night,  at  the  hour  when  the  moon  casts  the 
shadow  of  the  lindens  on  the  garden?" 

Last  night,  just  as  GriflSth  was  going  to  bed,  I  said 
to  her :  — 

"  Take  a  shawl  and  come  with  me,  my  dear ;  T  am 
going  to  the  end  of  the  garden,  and  want  no  one  to 
know  if 

She  did  n't  say  a  word,  but  followed  me. 

What  sensations,  oh,  my  Renee !  After  waiting  a 
little  while  in  a  sort  of  charmipg  agony,  I   saw  him, 


138     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married   Women. 

gliding  along  like  a  shadow.  When  I  had  crossed  the 
garden  without  disaster  I  said  to  Griffith  :  — 

''  Don't  be  surprised.  The  Baron  de  Macumer  is  here, 
and  that  is  the  reason  why  I  have  brought  you  with  me." 

She  did  n't  say  a  word. 

"  What  do  you  wish  of  me?  "  said  Felipe,  in  a  voice 
that  sounded  as  though  he  were  beside  himself. 

"  I  wish  to  say  to  you  that  which  I  cannot  write,"  I 
replied. 

Griffith  walked  a  few  steps  away.  The  night  was 
one  of  those  balmy  nights  fragrant  with  flowers.  At 
that  moment  I  felt  an  intoxicating  pleasure  in  being 
alone  with  him  in  the  soft  twilight  of  the  lindens, 
beyond  which  the  garden  and  the  house  shone  white  in 
the  moonlight.  This  contrast  seemed  a  vague  image  of 
our  love,  about  to  pass  from  mystery  to  the  dazzling 
publicity  of  marriage.  After  an  instant  given  to  the 
pleasure  of  the  situation  I  said  :  — 

*'  Though  I  am  not  afraid  of  calumny,  I  do  not  wish 
you  to  climb  into  that  tree  again,"  pointing  to  the  elm, 
*'nor  on  that  wall.  We  have  played  school-girl  and 
school-boy  long  enough ;  let  us  lift  our  actions  to  the 
level  of  our  positions.  If  3'ou  had  killed  yourself  when 
you  jumped  I  should  have  been  dishonored." 

I  looked  at  him ;  he  was  white  as  a  sheet. 

''  And  if  you  were  detected  here,"  I  went  on,  "  either 
my  mother  or  I  would  be  suspected." 


Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women.       139 

"  Forgive  me  !  "  he  said,  in  a  feeble  voice. 

"  You  may  pass  along  the  boulevard,"  I  added  ;  "  I 
shall  hear  your  step,  and  if  I  wish  to  see  you  I  will  open 
my  window.  But  I  shall  not  allow  you  to  incur,  or  incur 
m3'self,  that  danger  unless  there  is  some  strong  reason 
for  it.  Why  have  you  forced  me,  by  your  imprudence, 
to  commit  an  imprudence  myself,  and  risk  giving  yoxx  a 
bad  opinion  of  me?  " 

I  saw  the  tears  in  his  eyes,  and  I  felt  they  were  the 
finest  answer  in  the  world. 

"  You  must  know,"  I  said,  smiling,  "  that  my  present 
act  is  excessively  rash." 

After  one  or  two  turns  in  silence  under  the  trees  he 
seemed  to  recover  speech. 

"  You  must  think  me  stupid,"  he  said  ;  '*  but  I  am  so 
drunk  with  happiness  that  I  have  neither  strength  nor 
mind.  But  be  sure  of  this :  you  sanctify  all  actions, 
to  my  eyes,  by  the  mere  fact  that  you  do  them.  The 
respect  I  have  for  you  is  only  second  to  that  I  feel  to 
God.     Besides,  Miss  Griffith  is  here." 

"She  is  here  for  others,  but  not  for  us,  Felipe,"  I 
said  hastil3\ 

My  dear,  he  understood  me  ! 

"  I  know,"  he  said,  giving  me  a  most  humble  look, 
"  that  whether  she  were  here  or  not,  all  would  be 
between  us  as  though  she  saw  us.  If  we  are  not  in 
presence  of  men,  we  are  in  presence  of  God,  and  our 
own  self-respect  is  more  to  us  than  that  of  the  world." 


140     Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married   Women. 

'*  Thank  3'ou,  Felipe,"  I  said,  giving  him  mj  hand 
with  a  gesture  you  ought  to  have  seen.  "  A  woman, 
and  I  am  a  woman,  is  always  inclined  to  love  a  man 
who  understands  her  —  oh  !  only  inclined,"  I  added  ;  *'  I 
don't  wish  you  to  feel  more  hope  than  I  am  willing 
to  give.  My  heart  will  belong  only  to  the  man  who 
knows  how  to  read  it  and  comprehend  it.  Our  senti- 
ments, without  being  absolutely  alike,  ought  to  turn  in 
the  same  direction  and  be  at  an  equal  height.  I  do 
cot  want  to  boast  of  myself;  for  certain  good  qualities 
that  I  think  I  have  may  be  partly  faults  ;  but,  such  as 
they  are,  if  I  did  not  have  them  I  should  be  wretched." 

"After  having  accepted  me  as  3'our  servant,  you 
permitted  me  to  love  you,"  he  said  trembling,  and 
looking  at  me  as  he  said  each  word ;  "  I  have  more  than 
I  originally  asked  for." 

"  Well,"  I  said  quickly,  **  your  lot  is  better  than  mine. 
I  should  not  be  sorry  to  exchange,  —  but  that  is  your 
affair." 

"It  is  my  turn  now  to  thank  you,"  he  said.  "  I 
know  the  duty  of  a  loyal  lover.  I  must  prove  to  3'ou 
that  I  am  worthy  of  you,  and  yon  have  the  right  to  test 
me  as  long  as  you  please.  You  may  —  yes,  you  shall 
reject  me  if  I  betray  your  trust." 

"  I  know  you  love  me,"  I  answered.  "  Up  to  this 
time  "  (and  I  emphazied  the  words  cruelly)  "  I  like  no 
one  better ;  that  is  why  you  are  here  now." 


Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women.       141 

We  then  walked  up  and  down,  talking  together  ;  and 
I  must  admit  that  m}^  Spaniard  when  at  his  ease 
displayed  true  eloquence  of  heart  as  he  expressed  to 
me,  not  his  passion,  but  his  tenderness ;  he  explained 
his  feelings  by  an  adorable  comparison  with  the  love 
of  the  divine.  His  vibrating  voice,  which  gives  a 
peculiar  value  to  his  ideas,  in  themselves  so  delicate, 
was  like  the  notes  of  a  nightingale.  He  spoke  low  in 
the  middle  tones  of  his  delicious  organ,  and  his  sentences 
came  rapidly  like  an  effervescence  ;  his  heart  overflowed 
in  them. 

''  Enough,"  I  said,  "  or  I  shall  stay  here  longer  than 
I  ought." 

With  a  gesture  I  dismissed  him. 

"  So  you  have  engaged  yourself,  Mademoiselle,"  said 
Griffith. 

''  Perhaps  so  if  it  were  in  England,  but  not  in 
France,"  I  answered,  carelessly.  ^'  I  wish  to  make  a 
love-marriage,  and  not  to  be  mistaken,  that's  all." 

You  see,  my  dear,  love  did  n't  come  to  me  ;  I  behaved 

like  Mahomet  with  his  mountain. 

Friday. 

I  have  seen  my  slave  again.     He  has  grown  timid ; 

he  has  a  mysterious,  worshipful  air  which  I  like ;  he 

seems  to  have  a  deep  sense  of  my  glory  and  power. 

But  nothing  in  his  looks  or  manner  will  give  the  gossips 

of  society  the  slightest  suspicion  of  the  infinite  love  that 

m}'  eyes  can  see  in  him. 


142     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married   Women. 

And  yet,  my  dear,  I  am  not  carried  away,  mastered, 
subjugated ;  on  the  contrary,  I  master,  I  subjugate. 
In  short,  I  reason.  Ah !  I  wish  I  could  get  back  that 
fear  I  felt  when  the  teacher  fascinated  me.  There  must 
be  two  loves :  the  one  that  commands,  and  the  one  that 
obeys.  They  are  distinct,  and  they  give  birth  to  two 
passions  ;  and  one  is  not  the  otlier.  Perhaps  a  woman 
ought  to  know  both  to  square  her  account  with  life. 
Do  these  two  passions  unite  ?  Can  a  man  in  whom  we 
inspire  love  inspire  us  with  love  in  return?  Will 
Felipe  some  da}'  be  my  master  ?  Shall  I  tremble  before 
him  as  he  trembles  before  me?  These  questions  make 
me  shudder.  He  is  very  blind.  If  I'd  been  he,  I 
should  have  seen  that  Mademoiselle  de  Chaulieu  under 
those  lindens  was  coquettishl}^  cold,  starched,  and  cal- 
culating. No,  this  is  not  loving ;  it  is  only  playing 
with  fire.  Felipe  still  pleases  me,  but  I  now  find  my- 
self quite  calm  and  at  my  ease.  No  more  obstacles  — 
dreadful  thought !  Everything  in  me  has  flattened 
down ;  I  'm  afraid  to  question  myself.  He  made  a 
great  mistake  to  hide  the  violence  of  his  love ;  he  left 
me  mistress  of  myself.  Yes,  dear,  sweet  as  the  re- 
membrance is  of  that  half-hour  under  the  trees  it 
does  not  compare  to  the  emotions  I  had  in  saying: 
*' Shall  I  go,  or  shall  I  not  go?  Shall  I  write,  or 
shall  I  not  write?" 

Is    this    the    way  it  will    be   with    all    pleasures? 


Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married   Women.       143 

Would  n't  it  be  better  to  keep  putting  them  off,  rather 
than  take  them  and  enjoy  them  ?  Is  hope  so  much  bet- 
ter than  possession  ?  Are  the  rich  the  poor,  the  gainers 
losers?  Have  we,  you  and  I,  stretched  feehngs  too 
much  by  over-developing  our  imagination?  Sometimes 
that  idea  actually  freezes  me.  Do  j'ou  know  why? 
I  dream  of  going  to  the  end  of  the  garden  without 
Griffith.  Where  should  I  get  to  then?  Imagination 
has  no  limit,  but  satisfaction  has.  Dear  philosopher 
in  a  corset,  tell  me  how  to  reconcile  these  two  condi- 
tions of  a  woman's  life.  One  thing  is  certain,  I  cannot 
be  satisfied  with  things  as  they  are. 

XXII. 

LOUISE   TO   FELIPE. 

I  AM  not  pleased  with  you.  If  you  cannot  weep  over 
Racine's  Berenice,  if  you  do  not  think  it  the  most 
dreadful  of  tragedies,  you  do  not  comprehend  me,  and 
we  shall  never  understand  each  other.  Let  us  part; 
forget  me  ;  for  if  3'ou  do  not  respond  to  my  feelings  in 
essential  matters  I  shall  forget  j-ou,  —  or  rather,  3'ou 
will  become  nothing  to  me,  as  if  you  had  never  existed. 

Yesterday,  at  Madame  d'Espard's,  you  assumed  an 
air  of  satisfaction  which  supremely  displeased  me. 
You  seemed  so  sure  of  being  loved.  Moreover  the  in- 
dependence  of  your   mind   alarmed   me.      Instead   of 


144     Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women. 

being  absorbed  in  3^our  love,  you  were  intent  on  making 
witty  speeches.  That 's  not  the  way  with  true  be- 
lievers; they  are  always  humble  before  divinity.  If 
I  am  not  in  your  eyes  a  being  superior  to  all  other 
women,  if  you  do  not  see  in  me  the  very  source  of  yoxxv 
life,  then  I  am  less  than  a  woman  because  only  a  woman. 

You  have  roused  in  me  a  feeling  of  distrust,  Felipe  ; 
it  will  out ;  for  when  I  consider  our  past  I  think  I  have 
reason  to  be  distrustful.  Let  me  tell  3^our  Excellency, 
the  constitutional  minister  of  all  the  Spains,  that  I  have 
deeply  reflected  on  the  unhappy  condition  of  my  sex. 
M}^  Innocency  has  held  torches  in  both  hands  without 
burning  herself.  Therefore  listen  to  what  my  youthful 
experience  has  told  me  ;  I  repeat  it  for  your  benefit : 

In  all  other  earthly  things  duplicity',  unfaithfulness, 
and  broken  promises  have  judges  who  inflict  punish- 
ments ;  but  it  is  not  so  with  love,  which  is  forced  to 
be  victim,  accuser,  defender,  judge,  and  executioner,  all 
in  one  ;  for  the  worst  treachery  and  the  greatest  crimes 
against  love  are  secret ;  they  are  committed  soul  against 
soul  without  witnesses,  and,  moreover,  it  is  the  interest 
of  the  poor  murdered  ones  to  hold  their  tongue.  Con- 
sequently, love  has  its  own  code,  its  own  vengeance, 
with  which  the  world  has  nothing  to  do.  Now  I  am 
resolved  never  to  forgive  a  crime ;  and  there  is  no  such 
thing  as  a  peccadillo  in  things  of  the  heart.  Yesterday 
3'ou  chose  to  behave  like  a  man  who  was  sure  of  being 


,11 


Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women,     145 

loved.  It  is  true  jou  would  be  wrong  not  to  feel  that, 
but  you  would  be  criminal  in  my  eyes  if  it  took  away 
from  you  the  ingenuous  charm  that  the  fluctuations  of 
hope  once  gave  you.     I  do  not  want  to  see  you  either 


timid  or  too  self-confident ;  neither  do  I  want  you  to 
fear  the  loss  of  my  affection,  which  would  be  an  insult 
to  me ;  but  I  do  not  like  the  secure  and  airy  mannner 
in  which  3'Ou  are  beginning  to  carry  jour  love.  You 
ought  not  to  feel  more"  fi-ee"lhaEri  am  myself.  If  you 
do  not  know  the  torture  that  a  single  thought  can  inflict 
upon  the  heart,  tremble  lest  I  teach  it  to  you.  With  a 
single  glance  I  gave  my  soul  to  you,  and  you  read  it. 
To  you  were  given  then  the  purest  feelings  that  ever 
rose  in  the  heart  of  a  .young  girl.  The  reflections,  the 
meditations,  of  which  I  have  spoken  to  you  came  only 
from  the  head  ;  but  when  the  heart  is  wounded  and  asks 
counsel  of  the  mind,  believe  me,  a  3'oung  girl  has  the 
prescience  of  an  angel  who  knows,  and  can  do,  all. 

I  declare  to  you,  Felipe,  that,  even  if  you  love  me  as 
I  believe  you  do,  were_you  to  let  me  suspect  the  least 
relaxation  in  the  feelings  of  respect,  obedience,  and  sub- 
mission which  you  promised  me,  if  I  perceived  any 
diminution  in  that  first  and  beautiful  love  which  came 
from  your  soul  to  mine,  I  should  say  nothing,  I  should 
not  torment  you  with  letters  more  or  less  dignified, 
more  or  less  proud  and  angry,  or  merel}'  scolding  let- 
ters like  this  one,  —  no,  I  should  say  nothing,  Felipe. 

10 


146     Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women. 

You  would  see  me  sad,  sad  unto  death ;  but  I  should 
not  die  without  inflicting  on  you  the  saddest  of  all  blights  ; 
without  dishonoring  the  memory  of  her  whom  you  have 
loved ;  without  planting  in  3'our  heart  eternal  regrets, 
for  you  would  see  me  lost  here  below  in  the  eyes  of 
men,  and  forever  lost  in  the  other  world. 

Therefore,  do  not  make  me  jealous  of  the  happy  Louise, 
the  Louise  sacredly  loved,  the  Louise  whose  soul  ex- 
panded in  a  cloudless  love ;  who  possessed,  in  Dante's 
sublime  language  :  "  Senza  braraa,  sicura  ricchezza." 

You  put  into  my  heart  last  night  the  cold  and  cruel 
blade  of  doubt.  Do  3'ou  understand  what  I  mean? 
I  distrusted  you,  and  I  have  suffered  so  much  that  I 
long  to  doubt  no  more.  If  you  find  my  service  too 
hard,  leave  it ;  I  shall  not  be  angry. 

Do  I  not  know  you  are  a  man  oi  intellect  and  wit? 
Reserve  those  flowers  of  your  soul  for  me ;  turn  a  dull 
eye  to  the  world,  and  do  not  put  yourself  in  the  way  of 
receiving  flattery,  praises,  compliments  from  any  one. 
Come  to  me  rejected  and  disliked,  the  object  of  calumny 
or  contempt,  tell  me  that  women  cannot  comprehend 
you,  that  they  ignore  you,  that  none  of  them  can  love 
you  ;  then  shall  you  learn  what  there  is  for  you  in  the 
heart  and  love  of  3'our  Louise. 

The  treasures  of  our  love  must  be  so  buried  that  the 
whole  world  may  trample  over  them  and  not  suspect 
them.  If  3-ou  had  been  handsome  I  might  never  have 
given  you  a  thought,  and  sure  T  am  I  should  never  have 


Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women,       147 

discovered  in  you  the  world  of  reasons  that  has  made 
love  blossom.  Those  reasons  !  we  cannot  know  them, 
any  more  than  we  know  why  the  sun  calls  forth  the 
blossom  or  matures  the  fruit ;  and  yet  there  is  one  that 
I  do  know,  and  it  charms  me  —  your  noble  face  has  its 
character,  its  language,  its  countenance  for  me  alone ! 

Yes,  I  alone  have  the  power  of  transforming  you  and 
of  making  you  the  most  adorable  of  all  men  ;  and  I  will 
not  have  your  mind  escape  my  possession  ;  it  is  not  to 
be  revealed  to  others,  an}-  more  than  your  eyes,  your 
charming  mouth,  your  features,  speak  to  them.  To 
me  alone  the  right  to  illumine  the  fires  of  your  intellect. 
Remain  to  others  the  gloomy,  cold,  disdainful  grandee 
of  Spain  you  have  alwa3's  been.  You  were  a  savage 
land  among  whose  ruins  no  one  ventured ;  you  were 
contemplated  from  afar;  and  behold,  now  you  are 
making  commonplace  highways  for  all  the  world  to 
enter  ;  3'ou  will  soon  become  an  amiable  Parisian  ! 

Have  you  forgotten  my  programme?  Yesterday 
your  evident  joy  boasted  openty  that  3'ou  loved  me. 
It  required  the  glance  I  gave  you  last  night  to  prevent 
you  from  letting  the  keenest,  wittiest,  most  satirical 
salon  in  Paris  know  that  I  inspired  you.  I  think  3^ou 
too  noble  to  have  a  policy  in  your  love,  but  if  you 
cannot  continue  to  have  with  me  the  simplicity  of  a 
child  I  shall  pity  you ;  and  yet,  in  spite  of  this  first 
mistake  you  are  still  an  object  of  the  profound  admira- 
tion of  Louise  de  Chaulieu. 


148     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married   Women. 


XXIIT. 

FELIPE   TO    LOUISE. 

"When  God  sees  our  faults  he  sees  also  our  repent- 
ance. You  are  right,  my  dear  mistress.  I  felt  that 
I  had  displeased  you  without  being  able  to  fathom  the 
cause  of  3'our  displeasure.  You  have  now  explained 
it  and  given  me  fresh  cause  to  adore  you.  Your  jeal- 
ousy, like  that  of  the  God  of  Israel,  fills  me  with  hap- 
piness. Nothing  is  more  sacred  than  jealous3\  Oh, 
my  beautiful  guardian  angel,  jealousy  is  a  sentinel  that 
never  sleeps  ;  it  is  to  love  what  physical  pain  is  to  man, 
a  warning.  Be  jealous  of  3'our  servant,  Louise ;  the 
more  you  strike,  the  more  he  will  kiss  the  rod  which 
tells  him  in  striking  how  much  you  care  for  him. 

Yes,  I  did  attempt  last  night  to  show  you  what  I 
was  before  I  loved  you.  People  used  to  say  in  Madrid 
that  mj^  conversation  gave  them  pleasure,  and  I  wanted 
you  to  see  for  3'ourself  that  I  had  some  value.  Was  that 
vanity?  If  so,  it  is  well  punished.  Your  last  look 
left  me  in  a  state  of  trembling  agitation  I  had  never 
before  experienced,  —  not  even  when  the  French  forces 
appeared  before  Cadiz  and  my  life  was  nearly  sacrificed 
to  the  hypocris}^  of  the  king. 


Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married   Women.       149 

I  sought  in  vain  for  the  cause  of  your  displeasure  ;  I 
was  well-nigh  in  despair  at  this  sudden  and  jarring  want 
of  harmony  between  our  souls  when  I  believed  I  was 
acting  b}'  your  will,  thinking  with  your  thought,  seeing 
with  your  eyes,  enjoying  j^our  pleasure  and  feeling  3'our 
pain,  as  I  feel  heat  and  cold.  "Displease  her!"  I 
repeated  like  one  beside  himself.  My  noble  and  beau- 
tiful Louise,  if  anything  could  increase  my  devotion  to 
you  and  my  inalterable  belief  in  your  saintly  spirit  it 
would  be  the  doctrine  3'ou  have  now  put  into  my  heart 
like  a  new  light. 

If  these  are  your  punishments  what  will  be  j^our 
rewards?  Your  mere  acceptance  of  me  as  a  servant 
was  beyond  my  hopes.  Since  then  I  have  derived  from 
3^ou  an  unhoped-for  life  ;  I  am  vowed  to  a  worship  ;  my 
breath  is  not  useless ;  my  strength  has  a  purpose  — 
were  it  only  that  of  suffering  for  3'ou.  I  have  told  jou, 
and  I  here  repeat  it,  that  you  will  always  find  me  what 
I  was  when  I  offered  you  the  duty  of  an  humble,  unas- 
suming servant.  Yes,  were  you  even  lost  or  dishonored, 
my  tenderness  would  increase,  my  hand  would  stanch 
3'our  wounds,  my  prayers  would  carry  to  God  the  assur- 
ance that  3^ou  were  not  guilty.  Have  I  not  told  j'ou 
that  the  sentiments  I  bear  for  3'ou  in  my  heart  are  those 
of  a  father,  a  mother,  a  brother,  a  sister,  —  that  I  am, 
before  all  things,  a  family  for  you  ?  I  am  all,  or  nothing 
—  as  3'ou  will. 


150     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married   Women. 

But  surelj'  3-011  will  pardon  me  if  sometimes  I  am 
more  a  lover  than  a  father  or  a  brother ;  though  the 
father  and  the  brother  is  ever  behind  the  lover.  If  you 
could  look  into  my  heart  when  I  see  you  so  beautiful 
and  radiant,  so  calm  and  so  admired  in  your  carriage 
on  the  Champs- ^Elj'sees  or  in  your  box  at  the  opera  !  If 
you  only  knew  how  little  personal  pride  I  feel  when  I 
hear  the  praises  drawn  forth  by  3-our  beauty,  your  bear- 
ing, and  how  I  love  the  unknown  persons  who  utter 
them !  When  by  chance  you  have  cast  a  flower  into 
my  soul  by  bowing  to  me,  I  am  both  humble  and  proud ; 
I  walk  away  as  though  God  had  blessed  me ;  I  return 
home  joj'Ous,  and  mj^  jo^^  leaves  in  mj-  being  a  long  and 
luminous  trace ;  -it  shines  in  the  smoke  of  my  cigar ; 
and  I  know,  better  than  ever,  that  the  blood  which  is 
boiling  in  my  veins  is  all  3-ours. 

Do  you  not  know  how  3-ou  are  loved  ?  After  seeing 
you,  I  return  into  m}-  studj^,  which  glows  with  Saracenic 
magnificence,  but  where  3'our  portrait  eclipses  all.  I 
touch  the  spring  that  makes  it  invisible  to  all  ej-es  but 
mine  ;  I  cast  myself  into  the  infinite  of  contemplation  ; 
poems  of  happiness  come  into  m\'  mind ;  from  the 
heaven  in  which  I  am  I  see  the  course  of  my  coming 
life,  such  as  I  never  dared  to  hope  it.  Have  3'ou  some- 
times heard  in  the  silence  of  the  night,  or  amid  the 
noise  of  3'our  ga3'  society,  a  voice  resounding  softl3^  in 
3'our  dear,  adorable  little  ear?  Know3'Ou  nottheman3^ 
pra3'ers  m3'  heart  addresses  to  3'ou  ? 


Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women.     151 

So  long,  so  often  have  I  looked  at  you  in  silent  con- 
templation that  I  have  ended  b}"  discovering  the  reason 
of  all  your  features ;  I  see  their  correspondence  with 
/the  perfections  of  your  soul.  That  harmony  of  your 
two  natures,  I  have  put  into  sonnets  —  which  you  do  not 
know  because  m}-  written  poesy  is  so  far  below  its  sub- 
ject that  I  dare  not  send  them  to  you.  My  heart  is  so 
absolutely  absorbed  in  yours,  that  I  am  never  a  moment 
without  thinking  of  3'ou,  and  if  you  ceased  to  inspire 
my  life  all  would  be  suffering  within  me. 

Can  you  now  understand,  Louise,  what  suffering  it 
was  for  me  to  feel  that  I  had  given  you,  involuntarily, 
some  cause  for  displeasure  and  yet  be  unable  to  divine 
what  it  was  !  That  beautiful  dual  life  suddenly  arrested  ! 
my  heart  seemed  turned  to  ice.  In  the  utter  impossi- 
bility of  explaining  this  discord  I  believed  you  had 
ceased  to  love  me  ;  I  resolved  then  —  sadly,  and  at  the 
same  time,  happily  —  to  return  to  my  condition  of  servi- 
tude ;  but  3^our  letter  was  brought  to  me,  and  has  filled 
me  with  joy.     Oh,  blame  me,  scold  me  tiius  forever ! 

Forgive  me,  Louise  ;  I  have  not  changed  ;  I  give  jou 
the  key  of  my  nature  with  the  submission  of  a  child.  I 
shall  never  make  another  mistake,  another  false  step. 

Louise,  endeavor  that  the  chain  that  binds  me  to  you, 
and  which  you  hold  in  your  hand,  be  kept  so  taut  that 
the  slightest  movement  you  make  may  henceforth  tell 
3'our  every  wish  to  him  who  is 

Your  servant,  Felipe. 


152     Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women. 


XXIV. 

LOUISE    DE    CHAULIEU   TO   MADAME    DE   l'eSTORADE. 

October,  1824. 

My  dear  friend,  —  You  who  have  been  married  for 
months  to  a  poor  sick  soul  whose  mother  you  are  mak- 
ing yourself,  you  can  have  no  idea  of  the  frightful  agi- 
tations and  perplexities  of  the  drama  played  in  the 
depths  of  some  hearts  under  the  name  of  Love,  —  a 
drama  which  an  instant  can  turn  into  tragedj',  where 
death  is  in  a  look,  in  an  answer  heedlessly  uttered. 

You  told  me  to  test  Felipe,  and  I  have  done  so,  re- 
serving for  the  last  a  great  but  decisive  trial.  I  wanted 
to  know  if  I  was  loved  qi^and  meme —  the  grand  sa3'ing 
of  royalists,  wh}^  not  of  Catholics  ?  I  walked  with  him 
nearl}^  one  whole  night  under  the  lindens  in  the  garden, 
and  there  remained  not  a  shadow  of  doubt.  I  was 
to  him  as  deeply  loved,  as  grand,  as  pure,  as  I  had  ever 
been ;  he  took  not  the  slightest  advantage  of  the  favor 
I  had  granted  him.  Oh  !  he  is  a  true  Spaniard,  a  true 
Abencerrage  !  He  climbed  my  wall  to  merely  kiss  my 
hand,  which  I  held  out  to  him  in  the  darkness  from 
my  balcony ;  he  came  near  breaking  his  neck,  but 
that 's  nothing ;  a  great  many  3'oung  men  would  have 
done  the  same,  and  Christians  used  to  endure  great 
martyrdoms  to  get  to  heaven. 


Memoirs  of  Two    Young  Married  Women.     153 

Two  da3-s  ago  I  took  the  future  diplomat,  m^^  very 
honored  father  aside,  and  said  to  him  laughing :  — 

"Monsieur,  it  is  whispered  about  among  our  friends 
that  you  intend  to  marry  your  dear  Armande  to  the 
nephew  of  a  certain  ambassador,  under  promise  of  vast 
settlements  in  the  marriage  contract.  Your  daughter 
weeps,  but  she  is  forced  to  yield  to  the  inexorable  power 
of  paternal  authority.  Some  of  these  gossips  say  your 
daughter  hides  beneath  her  tears  a  selfish  and  ambitious 
soul.  We  are  going  to  the  Opera  to-night,  to  the  box 
of  the  gentlemen  of  the  Bedchamber,  and  Monsieur  le 
Baron  de  Macumer  will  be  there  —  " 

"  Oh  !  oh  !  "  said  my  father,  laughing. 

"  You  are  not  attending  to  m}^  tale,"  I  said,  with  a 
disdainful  and  sarcastic  glance.  *' Listen;  if  you  see 
me  unglove  my  right  hand  please  to  deny  this  imperti- 
nent rumor,  and  show  3^ourself  displeased  by  it." 

'*  I  sejB  I  may  feel  quite  easy  about  your  future.  You 
have  no  more  the  head  of  a  girl  than  Jeanne  d'Arc  had 
the  heart  of  a  woman.  You  '11  be  happy  ;  for  you  will 
love  no  one,  and  let  others  love  you." 

On  that,  I  burst  out  laughing. 

"  What  are  you  laughing  at,  my  little  coquette?" 
he  said. 

"Armande  laughs  at  everything,"  said  my  mother ; 
"  even  at  rheumatism,  for  she  is  not  afraid  of  the  night 
air." 


154     Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women. 

''It  is  fully  time  she  were  married,"  said  my  father, 
"  and  I  hope  it  can  be  done  before  I  start  for  Spain." 

"  Yes,  if  you  wish  it,"  I  replied  simpl3\ 

Two  hours  later,  my  mother  and  I,  the  Duchesse  de 
Maufrigneuse,  and  Madame  d'Espard  were  sitting  like 
four  roses  in  the  front  of  the  box.  I  sat  a  little  side- 
waj^s,  with  one  shoulder  onW  to  the  audience,  so  that  I 
could  see  all  without  being  much  seen  in  that  roomy 
box,  which  occupies  a  space  between  two  columns 
opposite  to  the  stage. 

Macumer  came  ;  he  planted  himself  close  by,  put  his 
opera-glass  to  his  eyes,  and  gazed  at  me  at  his  ease. 
At  the  first  interlude  a  3'oung  man,  whom  I  call  the 
king  of  knaves,  came  in,  —  a  3'outh  of  feminine  beauty, 
Comte  Henri  de  Marsa3\  He  produced  himself  with  a 
sarcasm  in  his  ej^es,  a  smile  on  his  lips,  and  a  generall}^ 
joyous  air  on  his  face.  He  paid,  his  respects  first  to 
m}^  mother  and  to  Madame  d'Espard,  Madame  de 
Maufrigneuse,  the  Comte  d'Esgrignon,  and  Monsieur 
de  Canalis ;  then  he  turned  to  me  and  said :  — 

"I  don't  know  if  I  am  the  first  to  congratulate  \o\i 
on  an  event  which  renders  yoxx  an  object  of  much 
envy." 

"Ah!  a  marriage?"  I  said.  "Do  you  need  a  girl 
just  from  a  convent  to  tell  you  that  marriages  which 
are  talked  about  are  never  made?" 

Monsieur  de  Marsay  stooped  over  and  said  sometliing 


Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women.     155 

in  Macumer's  ear,  and  I  perfectly  understood  from  his 
glance  and  the  motion  of  his  lips  that  he  was  sa3ing : 
"Baron,  perhaps  you  are  in  love  with  that  little 
coquette,  who  is  only  making  use  of  3'ou ;  but  there  is 
now  a  marriage  in  prospect ;  it  is  best  to  know  what 
is  going  on." 

Macumer  gave  the  gossiping  meddler  a  glance  which, 
in  my  opinion,  was  a  poem,  and  made  him  some  such 
answer  as  this  :  — 

"  I  am  not  in  love  with  any  little  coquette." 
And  he  said  it  with  a  look  which  sent  me  into  such 
raptures  that  I  glanced  at  my  father  and  took  off  my 
glove.  Felipe  evidently  had  not  the  slightest  doubt  of 
me,  not  one  suspicion.  He  has  fully  realized  all  that  I 
expect  of  his  noble  character ;  he  has  faith  in  me,  in 
me  only,  and  the  world  and  its  falsehoods  cannot  touch 
him.  Not, an  eyelid  winked;  the  blue  blood  of  m}' 
Abencerrage  did  not  even  tint  his  olive  skin. 

The  count  left  the  box,  and  then  I  said  to  Macumer : 
"  Monsieur  de  Marsay  made  an  epigram  on  me?" 
''  More    than    an    epigram,   an   epithalamium,"    he 
replied. 

"  That  is  Greek  to  me,"  I  answered  laughing,  and 
rewarding  him  by  a  look  which  always  puts  him  out  of 
countenance. 

*'  I  don't  wonder  !  "  exclaimed  my  father,  addressing 
Madame  de  Maufrigneuse.     "  These  gossiping  rumors 


156     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married   Women. 

are  infamous.  As  soon  as  a  girl  goes  into  society 
there  's  a  rage  to  marry  her ;  people  invent  the  greatest 
absurdities.  I  shall  not  marry  Armande  against  her 
wishes.  Now  1  must  make  a  turn  round  i\\Q  foyer  and 
deny  the  rumor,  or  they  will  ^ay  next  that  I  let  it  go 
uncontradicted  so  as  to  put  the  idea  into  the  ambassa- 
dor's head.  Caesar's  daughter  should  be  no  more  sus- 
pected than  Caesar's  wife." 

The  Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse  and  Madame  d'Espard 
looked  first  at  my  mother  and  then  at  my  father  in  their 
sparkling,  shrewd,  and  lively  way  which  asked  a  thou- 
sand silent  questions.  Those  clever  creatures  saw  at 
once  there  was  something  beneath  the  surface.  Of  all 
secret  things  love  is  the  most  public ;  women  exhale  it, 
I  do  believe  !  In  fact,  the  woman  who  hides  it  is  a  sort 
of  anomaly.     Our  ej'es  tell  more  than  our  tongues. 

Well,  after  enjoying  the  delight  of  finding  Felipe  as 
grandly  loj'al  as  I  wished  him  to  be,  I  naturallj^  wanted 
something  more.  So  I  made  the  signal  agreed  upon  to 
bring  him  to  my  window  b}^  that  dangerous  way  I  told 
you  of  A  few  hours  later  I  found  him,  stiff  as  a 
statue,  glued  to  the  wall,  his  hand  clasping  the  railing 
of  the  balcony,  watching  for  the  lights  in  my  room. 

"My  dear  Felipe,"  I  said,  "you  were  very  nice 
to-night ;  yoxx  behaved  just  as  I  should  have  behaved 
mj'self  if  any  one  had  told  me  you  were  going  to  be 
married." 


Memoirs  of  Tivo   Young  Married  Women.     157 

' '  I  felt  sure  you  would  have  told  me  yourself,  and 
not  have  left  me  to  hear  it  from  others,"  he  replied. 

"  What  right  had  you  to  the  information?  " 

"  That  of  a  faithful  servant." 

"  Are  you  reallj^  one? " 

"  Yes,"  he  replied,  "  and  I  shall  never  change." 

The  soft  light  of  the  moon  seemed  suddenly  bright- 
ened by  the  glance  he  cast  first  at  me,  and  then  at  the 
abyss  between  the  wall  and  the  balcony.  He  seemed  to 
be  asking  if  we  could  n't  plunge  there  together  and  die. 
Then  the  lightning  passed  out  of  his  eyes,  repressed  by 
the  force  of  passion. 

"  An  Arab  has  but  one  word,"  he  said  in  a  choking 
voice.  "  I  am  your  servant;  I  belong  to  you;  I  will 
live  my  whole  life  for  you." 

The  hand  that  clasped  the  railing  seemed  to  tremble. 
I  laid  mine  on  it  and  said  :  — 

"  Felipe,  my  friend,  by  my  own  will  I  am  your  wife 
from  henceforth.  Come  to-morrow  morning  and  ask 
me  of  my  father.  He  wants  to  keep  my  fortune ;  you 
must  promise  me  to  acknowledge  in  the  marriage  con- 
tract that  you  have  received  it,  and  then,  I  feel  sure, 
my  father  will  accept  you.  Now  go ;  I  am  no  longer 
Armande  de  Chaulieu,  I  am  Louise  de  Macumer,  and  I 
will  commit  no  more  imprudences." 

He  turned  pale ;  I  was  really  afraid  his  legs  might 
give  way  under  him.     However,  he  jumped  those  ten 


158     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women. 

feet  without  doing  himself  any  harm.  Then,  after 
causing  me  all  that  horrible  agitation,  he  kissed  his 
hand,  and  disappeared. 

"  Yes,  I  am  loved,'*  I  said  to  myself,  — ''  loved  as 
never  woman  yet  was  loved." 

I  went  to  sleep  with  absolutely  infantine  content; 
my  fate  is  forever  settled. 

About  two  o'clock  the  next  day  my  father  sent  for 
me.  I  found  him  in  his  study  with  the  duchess  and 
Macumer.  The  proper  speeches  were  most  graciously 
exchanged.  I  simply  answered  that  if  Monsieur  Hena- 
rez  had  come  to  an  agreement  with  my  father  I  had  no 
reason  to  oppose  their  wishes.  Thereupon,  my  mother 
invited  the  baron  to  dinner ;  after  which,  we  all  four 
took  a  drive  in  the  Bois  de  Boulogne.  I  looked 
satirically  at  Monsieur  de  Marsa}''  as  he  rode  by  on 
horseback,  for  his  sharp  e3'e  at  once  saw  Macumer  and 
my  father  on  the  front  seat  of  the  caleche. 

My  adorable  Felipe  has  had  some  new  cards  printed. 
See:  — 

Henapez 

(Of  the  Dues  de  Soria), 

Baron  de  Macumer. 

Every  morning  he  brings  me  himself  a  bouquet  of 
delicious  hot-house  flowers ;  in  the  midst  of  which  I 
always  find  a  letter  containing  a  sonnet  in  Spanish  to 
my  perfections,  made  by  him  during  the  night. 


Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married   Women.       159 

I  send  you,  as  a  specimen,  the  first  and  last  of  these 
sonnets,  translated  by  me  word  for  word  and  Ime  for 
line,  but  without  the  rhymes. 

First  Sonnet. 

Wearing  a  silken  vest,  I  more  than  once. 
With  sword  uplifted,  heart  in  calm  repose, 
Stood  forth  to  meet  the  wild  bull's  mad  advance, 
And  seize  its  horns,  sharper  than  Dian's  crescent. 
Singing  an  Andalusian  seguidilla, 
I  stormed  a  breach  beneath  a  rain  of  fire  ; 
I  staked  my  life  upon  that  game  of  chance, 
As  unconcerned  as  though  it  were  base  lucre  ; 
I  could  have  faced  the  cannon  at  their  mouths. 
But  now  —  now  I  am  timid  as  a  hare, 
Or  child  that  sees  a  spectre  in  its  dreams ; 
For  when  thy  soft  eyes  rest  upon  my  face. 
An  icy  sweat  breaks  forth,  my  knees  give  way, 
I  tremble,  I  shrink  back,  my  courage  gone. 

Last  Sonnet. 

Last  night  I  longed  to  sleep  to  dream  of  thee. 
But  jealous  slumber  fled  mine  eyelids; 
Then,  looking  forth  upon  the  silent  night. 
Thinking  of  thee,  mine  eyes  turned  heavenward. 
Phenomenal  sight!  which  love  alone  explaineth,  — 
The  firmament  had  lost  its  sapphire  tints ; 
The  stars,  like  diamonds  dulled  and  vitrified, 
Cast  murky  gleams  and  cold  reflections ; 
The  moon,  her  silvery  mantle  fallen  from  her, 


160     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women. 

Rolled  sadly  downward  to  the  dim  horizon. 

Ah!  thou  hast  robbed  the  heavens  of  all  their  splendor; 

The  whiteness  of  the  moon  is  on  thy  brow, 

The  blueness  of  the  sky  is  in  thine  eyes, 

And  the  stars,  too  !  —  yes,  thou  hast  robbed  the  heavens. 

Could  he  prove  to  a  girl  more  encbantingly  that  he  is 
always  thinking  of  her?  What  do  you  say  to  a  love 
which  expresses  itself  in  a  rich  prodigality  of  flowers, — 
flowers  of  the  mind  and  flowers  of  the  earth  ?  For  the 
last  ten  days  I  've  learned  to  know  Spanish  gallantry, 
—  the  famous  gallantry  of  the  olden  time. 

Ah!  dearest,  what  is  happening  at  La  Crampade, 
where  I  walk  in  imagination  watching  the  progress  of 
our  agriculture.  Have  j^ou  nothing  to  tell  me  of  our 
mulberry  trees,  of  our  last  winter's  plantations  ?  Does 
all  succeed  as  you  expected  and  hoped?  Have  the 
wifely  flowers  blossomed  in  your  heart  as  well  as  those 
in  the  borders?  Does  Louis  continue  his  madrigals? 
How  do  you  get  on  together?  How  does  the  gentle 
purling  of  your  brook  of  conjugal  tenderness  compare 
with  the  dashing  torrent  of  m}^  love?  Don't  be  vexed, 
my  dear  pretty  philosopher  in  petticoats.  If  3'ou  are, 
I  '11  send  Felipe  in  person  to  kneel  at  your  feet  and 
bring  me  either  your  head  or  your  pardon.  My  life 
h^re  is  so  perfect,  dear  love,  that  I  long  to  know  about 
yours  in  Provence.  Besides,  I  want  j'our  congratula- 
tions on  the  accession  to  our  family  of  a  Spaniard  who 
is  exactly  the  color  of  an  Havana  cigar.  | 


-    Memoirs  of  Two   Yoicng  Married  Women.     161 

But,  seriouslj',  Renee,  I  am  uneas}' ;  I  am  afraid  you 
are  hiding  troubles  from  me  lest  you  might  sadden  mj' 
joy — oh,  naughty  girl !  Write  me  at  once  a  good  long 
letter,  all  about  your  life  and  its  least  little  matters. 
All  3'ou  ever  write  makes  me  thoughtful.  Often  when 
I  am  at  the  Opera  watching  the  ballet-dancers  pirouet- 
ting, I  am  saying  to  myself;  "It  is  half  past  nine 
o'clock,  perhaps  she  is  going  to  bed ;  I  wonder  what 
she  is  thinking  ;  is  she  happy  ?  does  the  "  freedom  of 
will "  still  last,  or  has  it  gone  the  way  of  wills  we  no 
,  longer  care  for  ?    A  thousand  kisses. 


XXV. 

MADAME    DE    l'eSTORADE    TO    LOUISE  DE    CHAULIEU. 

October. 
Impertinent  girl !  why  should  I  write  to  you  ?  What 
is  there  to  say  ?  While  j'ou  are  living  that  life  of  fetes 
and  operas,  diversified  by  the  agonies,  the  quarrels,  and 
the  flowers  of  love  (which  you  describe  and  I  share  as 
if  it  were  a  drama  played  before  me)  I  am  living  my 
humdrum  life,  monotonous  and  regular  as  that  of  a  con- 
vent. We  are  always  in  bed  by  nine  o'clock,  and  up  at 
dawn.  Our  meals  are  served  with  exasperating  punc- 
tuality. Not  the  slightest  ' '  eventful  circumstance  " 
ever  happens. 

11 


162     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women. 

I  have  accustomed  m3'self  to  all  this  without  much 
difficulty.  It  may  be  the  natural  way  of  human  exist- 
ence ;  what  would  life  be  if  not  subjected  to  fixed  rules 
which  the  astronomers  sa}^  (and  so  does  Louis)  regulate 
the  universe.  Order  is  never  wearying.  Besides,  I 
have  imposed  upon  m3'self  obligations  as  to  my  toilet, 
which  take  the  morning  hours  between  the  time  I  rise 
and  breakfast.  I  am  determined  always  to  look  charm- 
ing ;  it  is  a  duty  of  womanhood  ;  I  like  it  myself,  and 
it  gives  great  delight  to  the  old  man  and  Louis. 

After  breakfast  we  usually  take  a  walk.  When  the 
newspapers  arrive  I  disappear,  to  attend  to  my  house- 
hold affairs,  or  to  sit  down  and  read,  for  I  read  a  great 
deal,  or  to  write  to  you.  I  return  about  an  hour  before 
dinner.  After  dinner  we  play  cards,  receive  visits  or 
make  them.  Thus  I  pass  my  da3's  between  a  happy 
old  man  who  has  done  with  the  desires  of  life,  and  a 
young  one  whose  only  happiness  I  am.  Louis  is  so 
content,  so  satisfied,  that  his  joy  has  ended  by  comfort- 
ing my  soul.  Happiness  for  us  is  doubtless  not  in 
passionate  emotions. 

Sometimes,  in  the  evenings,  when  I  am  not  wanted 
to  make  up  a  rubber,  I  bury  myself  in  my  easy-chair 
and  let  my  thoughts  take  wing  to  you.  I  enter  into 
you  ;  I  am  part  of  your  beautiful,  fruitful  life,  so  varied, 
so  violently  agitated,  and  I  ask  myself  to  what  your 
turbulent  preface  is  leading ;  will  it  kill  the  book?  You 


Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women.     163 

may  have  the  illusions  of  love,  dear  darling,  but  I  —  I 
have  nothing  now  but  the  realities  of  household  life. 
Yes,  your  loves  seem  like  a  dream  to  me  !  I  find  some 
difficulty  in  understanding  wh}^  you  seek  to  make  them 
so  romantic.  You  demand  a  man  with  more  soul  than 
senses,  more  grandeur  and  virtue  than  love ;  you  ex- 
pect that  a  girl's  dream  on  entering  life  should  become 
reality,  3^ou  ask  for  sacrifices  in  order  to  reward  them  ; 
5^ou  subject  your  Felipe  to  tests,  not  to  learn  his  char- 
acter, but  to  know  if  his  submission,  worship,  and 
desire  will  be  durable.  But,  m}-  child,  behind  these 
fanciful  decorations  stands  an  altar  at  which  an  indis- 
soluble, eternal  tie  is  bound.  The  morrow  of  marriage, 
that  terrible  fact  which  changes  the  young  girl  into  a 
woman,  the  lover  into  a  husband,  may  overthrow  all 
the  fine  scaffoldings  of  j'our  subtlest  precautions. 
Louise,  all  wedded  pairs,  whether  they  are  ardent 
lovers,  or  whether  the3"  are  two  persons  married  as 
Louis  and  I  were,  have  to  seek  in  marriage  what 
Rabelais  has  called  a  great  perhaps. 

I  don't  blame  you,  though  it  was  rather  giddy, 
for  talking  with  Don  Felipe  in  the  garden,  or  for 
questioning  him  from  your  balcon}^,  he  being  on  the 
wall ;  but  what  troubles  me,  my  child,  is  that  you  are 
trifling  with  life,  and  I  am  terribly  afraid  that  life  maj' 
trifle  with  j'ou.  I  dare  not  offer  3'ou  all  the  advice 
that  m}^  experience  suggests  to  me  for  your  happiness  ; 


164     Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women. 

but  let  me  tell  3'ou  once  more,  from  the  depths  of  my 
valley,  that  the  viaticum  of  marriage  is  in  two  words, 
—  resignation,  and  devotion.  After  all,  I  see  that  in 
spite  of  your  tests  and  your  coquetries  and  your  sage 
observations,  you  will  marry  exactly  as  1  did.  The 
higher  the  desires,  the  deeper  the  precipitation,  that 's 
all. 

Oh !  how  I  should  like  to  see  the  Baron  de  Macumer 
and  talk  with  him  for  a  few  hours,  —  so  anxious  am  I 
for  3'our  happiness. 


XXVI. 

THE  BARONNE    DE   MACUMER   TO    MADAME  DE  l'eSTORADE. 

March,  1825. 

Felipe  having  agreed,  with  the  generosity  of  a 
Saracen,  to  the  wishes  of  my  father  and  mother,  by 
acknowledging  the  receipt  of  my  fortune  without  re- 
ceiving it,  the  duchess  has  become  even  better  to  me 
than  she  was  before.  She  calls  me  her  sly  puss  and 
her  clever  girl ;  she  thinks  me  verj'  knowing. 

''  But,  dear  mamma,"  I  said  to  her  the  evening 
before  the  signing  of  the  contract,  ''  3'ou  attribute  to 
policy  and  shrewdness  and  cleverness  the  results  of 
love,  —  the   truest,  most  single-minded,    disinterested, 


Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women.     165 

honest  love  that  ever  was.  Do  believe  that  I  am  not 
the  clever  girl  you  do  me  the  honor  to  think  me." 

''  Nonsense,  Armande,"  she  said,  drawing  me  to  her 
by  my  neck  and  kissing  my  forehead,  "you  did  not 
want  to  return  to  the  convent,  or  to  remain  unmarried, 
and  yet,  like  the  true  Chaulieu  that  you  are,  you  felt 
the  necessity  of  restoring  your  father's  family."  (If 
you  only  knew,  Renee,  how  flattering  that  was  to  the 
duke,  who  was  listening  to  us.)  "  I  have  watched  you 
all  winter,  running  your  little  nose  into  everything, 
judging  men  very  accuratelj^  and  divining  the  truth 
about  social  life  in  France.  You  have  had  the  wit  to 
pick  out  the  onl}^  Spaniard  capable  of  giving  you  the 
satisfactor}'  life  of  a  woman  who  is  mistress  in  her  own 
home.  My  dear  child,  you  have  treated  him  as  Tullia 
treats  your  brother.'' 

"  What  a  school  my  sister's  convent  has  been,  to  be 
sure  !  "  remarked  m}^  father. 

I  gave  him  a  look  which  stopped  the  words  on  his 
lips  ;  then  I  turned  to  the  duchess  and  said  :  — 

"  Mamma,  I  love  m}'^  suitor,  Felipe  de  Soria,  with  all 
the  powers  of  my  soul.  Though  this  love  was  involun- 
tary, it  was  strongly  resisted  when  it  rose  in  my  heart, 
and  I  swear  that  I  did  not  3'ield  to  it  until  I  saw  in  the 
Baron  de  Macumer  a  soul  worthj^  of  mine,  —  a  heart 
whose  delicacy,  generosity,  devotion,  strength,  and  sen- 
sibiUty  fulfilled  the  requirements  of  my  heart  —  " 


166     Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women. 

*' But,  my  dear,"  she  said,  interrupting  me,  "he  is 
as  ugly  as  —  " 

"  As  anything  3'ou  please/'  I  said  quickly;  "but  I 
love  that  ugliness." 

"  Armande,"  said  my  father,  "  if  you  love  him,  have 
the  strength  of  mind  to  master  j^our  love  ;  do  not  risk 
your  happiness.  Happiness,  my  dear,  depends  a  great 
deal  on  the  first  days  of  marriage." 

"  Leave  us  now,  monsieur,"  said  the  duchess ;  "  I 
have  some  advice  to  give  my  daughter." 

When  we  were  alone  she  continued  as  follows :  — 

"  You  are  to  be  married  in  three  days,  my  dear 
child,  and  therefore  I  ought  to  give  j^ou,  without 
any  bourgeois  sentimentality,  the  serious  advice  which 
mothers  of  our  station  give  their  daughters.  You 
marr}^  a  man  j^ou  love,  therefore,  I  need  not  pity  5^ou. 
Neither  do  I  pity  mj^self ;  I  have  only  known  you  for 
a  year,  and  though  that  has  been  long  enough  to  make 
me  love  3'ou,  it  is  not  long  enough  to  make  me  weep  at 
losing  3'our  compan}^  Your  intelligence  is  greater 
even  than  3'our  beaut3^ ;  you  have  gratified  my  self-love 
as  a  mother ;  and  3"ou  have  behaved  like  a  good  and 
amiable  daughter.  For  that  reason,  3'ou  will  always 
find  me  an  excellent  mother.  You  smile  ?  Alas  !  when 
mother  and  daughter  have  lived  much  together  as 
women,  the3^  are  apt  to  quarrel  in  after  life.  I  desire 
to  see  3'ou  happ3'.     Therefore  listen  to  me.     The  love 


Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women.     167 

you  now  feel  is  a  girl's  love,  the  natural  love  of  all 
women  who  are  born  to  attach  themselves  to  men. 
But  alas  !  my  child,  there  is  but  one  man  in  the  world 
for  each  of  us  ;  there  are  not  two  men ;  and  he  whom 
we  are  formed  to  treasure  is  often  not  the  one  we  have 


chosen  for  a  husband  believing  that  we  loved  him. 
However  strange  these  words  may  seem  to  you,  medi- 
tate upon  them.  If  we  do  not  love  the  man  we  have 
chosen,  the  fault  is  both  in  us  and  in  him ;  sometimes 
also  in  circumstances  which  depend  on  neither.  Never- 
theless, there  is  nothing  to  prevent  the  man  whom  our 
famil}^  has  chosen  for  us,  or  we  have  chosen  for  our- 
selves, from  being  the  one  beloved  man  of  our  life. 
The  barrier  which  after  marriage  may  be  felt  between 
us  is  often  raised  by  a  want  of  perseverance  both  on 
his  part  and  our  own.  To  make  a  husband  a  lover  is 
quite  as  delicate  a  piece  of  work  as  to  make  our  lover 
a  husband,  —  you  have  just  accomplished  the  latter  feat 
in  an  admirable  manner.  Well,  I  say  again,  I  am  very 
desirous  of  seeing  you  happy.  Remember,  from  this 
instant,  that  the  first  three  months  of  wedded  life  will 


make  j^ou  an  unhappy  woman  unless"  you  submit  your- 
^elf_iii  marriage  with  the  obedience,  tenderness,  and 
intelligence  you  have  shown  in  love.  For,'  my  little 
girl,  you  have  carried  on  your  innocent  affairs  with  all 
the  zest  of  clandestine  love.  If  your  new  life  of  happy 
love  brings  disenchantment,  possibly  sufferings,  come 


168     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women. 

and  see  me  and  let  me  know  of  them.  Do  not  expect 
too  much  of  marriage;  it  will  in  any  case  bring  you 
as  much  pain  as  joy.     Married  happiness  requires  as 


much  culture  as  love.  If,  by  some  mischance,  you 
lose  the  lover  in  your  husband,  remember  you  may 
find  him  again  under  another  form,  that  of  the  father 
of  3'our  children.  There,  my  dear  child,  is  the  whole 
of  social  life.  Sacrifice  all  to  the  man  whose  name  you 
bear,  whose  honor  and  worldly  consideration  cannot 
receive  the  slightest  smirch  without  inflicting  a  lasting 
injury  on  you.  To  sacrifice  all  to  a  husband  is  not 
only  an  absolute  duty  to  women  of  our  rank,  it  is  also 
the  wisest  policy.  The  finest  attribute  of  all  the  great 
principles  of  morality  is  to  be  true  and  profitable  on 
whichever  side  they  are  examined.  I  think  I  have  said 
enough  on  this  head.  One  word  more  ;  I  think  you  are 
inclined  to  jealousy;  I  am  jealous  myself;  but  I  do 
not  wish  you  to  be  jealous  in  a  foohsh  way.  Listen  : 
Jealousy  which  lets  itself  be  seen  is  like  a  player  who 
lays  his  cards  upon  the  table.  To  show  yonx  jealousy 
is  to  show  your  hand ;  is  it  not  ?  You  cannof  then 
guess  the  game  on  the  other  side.  In  all  things,  we 
must  learn  to  suffer  in  silence.  I  shall  have  a  serious 
conversation  with  Macumer  about  you  the  evening 
before  your  marriage." 

I  took  my  mother's   beautiful  arm,  and  kissed  her 
hand,  leaving  a  tear  upon  it.    I  saw  in  that  moral  lesson, 


Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women.     169 

worthy  of  her  and  of  me,  the  deepest  wisdom,  a  solicitude 
free  from  social  bigotry,  and,  above  all,  a  true  esteem 
for  my  character.  In  these  simple  words  she  had 
summed  up  all  the  lessons  that  her  life  and  her  experi- 
ence had  sold  to  her,  probably  at  heavy  cost.  She  was 
touched,  and  said  as  she  looked  at  me  :  — 

'*  Dear  Httle  daughter !  you  are  about  to  make  a 
terrible  passage  ;  and  most  women,  after  the}'  have  made 
it,  would  fain  do  like  the  Earl  of  Westmoreland.'' 

We  laughed.  To  explain  the  joke,  I  must  tell  you 
that  at  dinner  the  previous  evening  a  Russian  princess 
had  told  an  anecdote  of  how  the  Earl  of  Westmoreland, 
having  suffered  dreadfully  from  sea-sickness  on  his 
passage  across  the  Channel,  and  wishing  to  go  'to 
Italy,  turned  back  when  he  heard  of  the  passage  of  the 
Alps.     "  One  passage  is  enough  for  me,"  he  said. 

And  so,  Renee,  your  gloomy  philosophy  and  my 
mother's  warnings  began  to  frighten  me.  The  nearer 
marriage  came,  the  more  I  gathered  up  my  strength  and 
will  and  emotions  to  face  the  alarming  change  from 
girlhood  to  womanhood.  All  our  conversations  returned 
to  m}^  mind ;  I  reread  your  letters,  and  I  discovered  a 
secret  sadness  in  them.     These  fears  served  to  make 


me  a  conventionaTIy~^le  and  shrinking  bride ;  so  I 
was  thought  very  charming  and  interesting  the  day  the 
contract  was  signed.  This  morning,  at  the  mayor's 
oflSce  (we  went  there  quietly  without  ceremony),  no  one 


170     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women. 

was  present  but  the  witnesses.  I  am  finishing  this 
letter  while  \hQy  are  dressing  me  for  dinner. 

We  are  to  be  married  this  evening,  at  midnight,  in 
the  church  of  Sainte-Valere,  after  a  brilliant  reception. 
I  must  own  my  fears  make  me  look  like  a  victim,  and 
give  me  a  false  air  of  modesty,  which  has  won  me  an 
admiration  I  don't  understand.  I  am  delighted  to  see 
that  my  poor  Felipe  is  as  timid  and  girlish  as  I;  the 
company  distress  him  ;  he  is  like  a  bat  in  a  glass  shop. 

"  Happilj'  this  day  has  a  morrow,"  he  whispered  in 
my  ear.  Poor  fellow,  he  would  fain  he  married  without 
any  one  looking  on  ;  he  is  so  shy  and  timid. 

When  the  Sardinian  ambassador  came  to  the  signing 
of 'the  contract,  be  took  me  aside  and  presented  a 
pearl  necklace  clasped  by  six  magnificent  diamonds.  It 
was  a  gift  from  my  sister-in-law  the  Duchesse  de 
Soria.  This  necklace  was  accompanied  by  a  sapphire 
bracelet,  inside  of  which  were  engraved  the  words  '*I 
love  thee  before  I  know  thee."  Two  charming  letters 
were  with  these  gifts,  which  I  would  not  accept  until  I 
had  asked  Felipe's  permission. 

"For,'*  I  said  to  him,  ''I  should  not  like  you  to 
accept  anything  that  was  not  from  me." 

He  kissed  my  hand,  much  moved,  and  said  :  — 

"  Wear  them  for  the  sake  of  that  motto  ;  the  love  thus 
offered  is  sincere." 


Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women.     171 

Saturday  night. 
Here,  my  Renee  are  the  last  words  of  your  girl 
friend.  After  the  midnight  mass  we  leave  for  an 
estate  which  Fehpe,  with  delicate  thoughtfulness,  has 
bought  in  Nivernais  on  the  road  to  Provence.  My 
name  is  already  Louise  de  Macumer ;  but  by  whatever 
name  all  others  call  me,  for  you  there  is  no  one  but 
Louise. 


XXVII. 

MADAME   DE   MACUMER  TO   MADAME   DE   l'eSTORADE. 

September,  1825. 

I  HAVE  not  written  to  you,  dearest,  since  the  day  of 
my  marriage  at  the  mayor's  office,  nearly  eight  months 
ago !  As  for  you,  not  a  line !  That  is  shameful, 
madame. 

Well,  we  started  with  post-horses  for  the  chateau  de 
Chantepleurs,  the  estate  Felipe  bought  in  Nivernais  on 
the  banks  of  the  Loire,  whither  all  our  servants  except 
my  maid  had  preceded  us,  and  where  we  ourselves 
arrived  with  extraordinary  rapidity  the  following 
evening. 

Since  then,  my  dearest,  all  these  months  have  elapsed 
and  I  have  not  written  to  3^ou,  but  I  am  certain  that 
you  know  wh}'.     Renee,  I  understand  you  now.     It  is 


172     Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women. 

not  to  her  nearest  friend,  nor  to  her  mother,  perhaps 
not  even  to  herself  that  a  happy  bride  can  speak  of  her 
happy  marriage.  We  must  leave  that  memory  in  our 
souls  as  an  emotion  that  belongs  to  ourselves  alone, 
and  for  which  there  is  no  name.  Ah  !  how  can  they 
call  duty  the  tender  follies  of  the  heart,  and  the  irresis- 
tible impulses  of  love.  What  horrible  law  has  converted 
into  "  wifely  duty,"  the  thousand  delicacies  of  taste,  of 
sentiment,  of  chastity  in  a  woman  ?  Can  it  be  a  duty 
to  give  these  flowers  of  the  soul,  these  roses  of  life,  these 
poems  of  lofty  sensibility  to  a  being  we  do  not  love? 
Eights,  duties,  in  such  emotions !  why,  they  bud  and 
blossom  to  the  sun  of  love,  or  else  their  seeds  must 
mildew  in  the  chilly  atmosphere  of  repugnance  or 
aversion.     No,  love  maintains  its  own  prerogative. 

Ah,  my  glorious  Renee,  I  know  3'ou  now  in  all  your 
greatness.  I  bow  the  knee  to  you ;  I  am  amazed  at 
your  clear-sightedness.  Yes,  the  woman  who  does  not 
make,  as  I  have  made,  a  marriage  of  love,  must  fling 
herself  into  maternity,  as  a  soul  whom  earth  has  dis- 
appointed flings  itself  into  religion.  From  all  that  you 
have  written  me  there  issues  one  stern  truth :  none  but 
a  really  great  man  can  truly  love  a  woman.  I  now 
know  why.  Man  obeys  two  principles.  In  him  are 
desire  and  sentiment.  Inferior  men  mistake  desire  for 
sentiment ;  whereas  superior  men  cover  desire  with  the 
greater  power  of  sentiment ;    sentiment  communicates 


Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women.     173 

reserve,  and  inspires  them  with  reverence  for  woman. 
Sensibilit}',  delicacy  of  feeling,  is  in  proportion  to  the 
strength  of  the  inward  being,  the  soul ;  and  the  man  of 
genius  is  the  only  man  who  can  approach  us  on  our 
own  ground ;  he  conceives,  divines,  and  comprehends  a 
woman;  he  lifts  her  on  the  wings  of  his  desire  re- 
strained by  sentiment.  When  mind  and  heart  and 
senses  all  combine  to  bear  us  onward,  it  is  not  to 
earth  we  fall ;  we  rise  to  higher  regions,  —  unhappily, 
we  do  not  always  sta}^  there. 

Such,  my  dear  soul,  is  the  philosophj^  of  my  first 
months  of  marriage.  Felipe  is  an  angel.  I  can  think 
aloud  to  him.  It  is  not  a  figure  of  speech  to  say  he  is 
another  myself  His  grandeur  is  not  to  be  expressed. 
He  is  more  closelj^  bound  to  me  now  that  I  am  his ;  he 
finds  in  happiness  fresh  cause  for  love.  I  am  ,to  him 
the  nobler  part  of  himself  I  see  the  future  ;  years  of 
marriage,  far  from  changing  his  delights,  will  increase 
his  confidence,  develop  new  sensibilities  between  us, 
and  strengthen  our  union. 

What  blissful  rapture  !  My  soul  is  so  made  that 
happiness  sends  vivid  gleams  throughout  me ;  they 
warm  me,  they  illuminate  my  whole  inward  being. 
The  sun  which  gilds  the  summits  when  he  sets  glows 
with  equal  fervor  in  the  rosy  dawn.  Ah  !  b}^  what  fair 
chance  has  all  this  come  to  me  ?  My  mother  filled  my 
mind  with  fears  ;  her  forebodings  —  which   now  seem 


174     Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women. 

full  of  jealousy  though  free  from  vulgar  pettiness  —  are 
cheated  by  the  result ;  for,  oh  !  my  dearest,  your  fears, 
hers,  and  mine  have  taken  wings. 

We  stayed  at  Chantepleurs  more  than  seven  months, 
like  two  eloping  lovers  who  hide  their  happiness  from 
angry  parents.  The  roses  of  pleasure  crowned  our 
love,  and  will  blossom  throughout  our  lives.  By  a 
sudden  turn  of  mind,  one  morning  when  I  was  even 
more  fully  happy  than  ever,  my  thoughts  went  sud- 
denly to  m}'  Renee,  to  her  marriage  of  social  obedience, 
and  I  divined  her  life,  I  penetrated  it !  Oh  !  my  angel, 
why  are  we  fated  to  speak  two  different  languages? 
Your  marriage,  purely  social,  my  marriage  of  happy 
love,  are  two  worlds  which  can  no  more  comprehend 
each  other  than  the  finite  can  comprehend  the  infinite. 
You  are  on  earth ;  I  am  in  heaven.  You  are  in  the 
human  sphere,  I  in  the  divine  sphere.  I  reign  by  love, 
you  reign  by  reasoning  and  by  duty.  I  am  so  high  that 
if  there  came  a  fall  I  should  be  shivered  into  a  million 
fragments.  But  oh!  I  ought  to  keep  silence;  T  am 
ashamed  to  tell  you,  dear,  the  glorj'^,  riches,  wealth  of 
joy  in  my  springtime  of  love. 

We  are  now  in  Paris,  in  a  charming  house  in  the 
rue  du  Bac,  arranged  for  us  by  the  same  architect 
Felipe  employed  to  arrange  Chantepleurs.  I  have  just 
been  listening,  my  soul  expanding  with  the  sacred  joys 
of  marriage,  to  that  celestial  music  of  Rossini  I  used 


Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women.     175 

to  hear  with  an  uneasy  soul,  —  tormented,  though  I  did 
not  know  it,  with  the  questions  of  love.  I  am  thought 
to  be  handsomer  than  I  was,  and  I  hear  m3'self  called 
"  madame"  with  absolutely  childish  glee. 

Friday  morning 
Renee,  my  beautiful  saint,  happiness  draws  me  per- 
petually back  to  3^ou.  I  feel  in  my  heart  that  I  am 
better  and  more  loving  to  you  than  I  have  ever  been. 
I  have  so  deeply  studied  your  married  life  by  the  begin- 
ning of  my  own,  and  I  see  3'ou  so  grand,  so  noble,  so 
magnificently  virtuous,  that  I  here  and  now  proclaim 
myself  your  inferior,  your  sincere  admirer,  as  well  as 
your  friend.  Knowing  what  my  marriage  has  proved 
to  be,  I  see  now  that  I  should  die  were  it  other  than 
what  it  is.  But  you  live  !  Ah  !  by  what  instinct,  tell 
me  that?  Never  again  will  I  make  the  slightest  jest 
about  anything  j'ou  may  say  to  me.  Jesting,  my 
dearest,  is  oxAy  ignorance;  we  laugh  at  that  we  know 
nothjng  about.  Where  recruits  jest,  veterans  look  1  ^ 
grave;  so  I  was  told  by  the  Comte  de  Chaulieu,  a  poor 
cavalry  captain,  who  has  never  been  farther  than  Fon- 
tainebleau  in  his  life. 

But,  my  own  darling,  I  know  you  have  not  told  me 
all.  You  have  hidden  some  wounds  from  me.  You 
suffer ;  I  feel  it.  I  have  found  ideas  in  the  little  that 
you  have  told  me  ;  and  I  have  studied  them,  seeking  to 


^\ 


176     Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women. 

discover  at  a  distance  the  true  reasons  of  j^our  conduct. 
"She  has  never  reached  real  marriage,"  I  thought  to 
m^'self  one  evening.  "  What  is  happiness  to  me  is 
suffering  to  her ;  and  she  disguises  her  suffering  under 
the  pompous  maxims  of  social  morality." 

Ah,  Renee  !  that  which  is  so  glorious  in  true  marriage 
is  this :  it  needs  no  theories,  no  ph3iacteries,  no  grand 
words  ;  whereas  to  justify  the  cruel  social  laws  of  our 
slavery  and  vassalage,  men  haA^e  heaped  theor}'  upon 
theory  and  maxim  upon  maxim.  If  your  self-sacrifice" 
is  noble  and  sublime,  is  my  happiness,  sheltered  by  the 
white  and  gold  canopy  of  the  Church  and  sealed  by  the 
law  in  a  mayor's  office,  an  unnatural,  abnormal  thing? 
For  the  honor  of  the  laws,  for  you,  but  above  all,  to 
sanction  my  own  happiness,  I  want  3^ou  happy,  my 
Renee.  Oh,  tell  me  that  j^ou  have  begun  to  feel  in 
your  heart  a  little  love  for  this  Louis  who  adores  you ; 
tell  me  that  the  solemn  and  symbolic  torch  of  Hj^men 
has  not  served  only  to  make  you  see  the  darkness  of 
3'our  fate. 

Love,  m}^  angel,  is  to  the  moral  nature  exactly  what 
^<^  the  sun  is  to  the  earth.  I  return  ever  to  that  point,  the 
light  that  hghts  me,  and  which  will,  I  fear,  consume  me. 
Dear  Renee,  — who  used  to  say  in  your  ecstasies  of 
friendship  in  the  convent  garden,  beneath  the  grape- 
vine (do  you  remember?),  "Louise,  I  love  thee  so  that 
if  God  appeared  to  me  I  would  ask  him  to  give  me  all 


Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women.     Ill 

the  griefs,  and  thee  all  the  jo3's  of  this  world.  Yes,  I 
have  the  passion  of  suffering,"  —  well,  this  da}',  dearest, 
I  return  thy  wish ;  I  pray  to  God  to  divide  my  happi- 
ness with  thee. 

Listen :  I  am  certain  that  3'ou  are  ambitious  under 
the  name  of  Louis  de  I'Estorade.  Well,  get  him  ap- 
pointed deputy  at  the  coming  elections ;  he  is  nearly 
fort}^  years  old,  and  as  the  Chamber  does  not  assemble 
for  six  months  after  the  elections,  he  will  by  that  time 
be  of  the  required  age  for  a  man  in  public  life.  You  will 
then  come  to  Paris  ;  that 's  all  I  need  say.  My  father 
and  the  friends  I  shall  now  make  here  will  appreciate 
3'Ou  ;  and  if  your  old  father-in-law  will  entail  his  prop- 
ertj',  we  will  obtain  the  title  of  count  for  Louis.  That 's 
easily  done,  and  —  we  shall  be  together ! 


XXVIII. 


October,  1825. 

My  happy  Louise,  —  You  dazzle  me.  For  several 
minutes  1  have  been  holding  before  me  your  letter,  on 
which  a  few  of  my  tears  are  shining  in  the  setting  sun, 
sitting  here  alone  beneath  the  barren  rock  where  I  have 
placed  a  bench.  In  the  far,  far  distance,  like  a  steel 
blade,  gleams  the  Mediterranean.     A  few  sweet-scented 

12 


178     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women, 

shrubs  shadow  my  seat ;  I  have  planted  an  enormous 
jasmine,  plenty  of  honeysuckle,  and  Spanish  broom. 
Some  day  the  rock  will  be  covered  with  clasping  and 
climbing  things.  But  now  it  is  autumn,  and  all  this 
verdure  is  beginning  to  look  like  a  faded  carpet.  When 
I  am  there  no  one  comes  to  disturb  me,  for  they  know 
I  want  to  be  alone.  The  seat  is  called  "  Louise's 
Bench.'*  Does  not  that  suffice  to  tell  jou.  that  I  am 
not  alone  there,  although  alone. 

If  I  tell  you  all  these  details,  so  trifling  to  you,  if  I 
describe  the  coming  verdure  that  I  hope  will  one  day 
clothe  m}'^  bare  and  frowning  rock,  at  the  top  of  which 
an  accident  of  vegetation  has  alread}^  placed  a  grand 
umbrageous  pine  like  a  parasol,  it  is  that  I  find  in 
these  things  a  mental  image  to  which  I  cling. 

As  I  sat  there  enjoying  your  happy  marriage,  and 
(why  should  I  not  confess  the  truth  to  you  ?)  envying  it 
with  all  my  strength,  I  felt  the  first  movements  of  my 
child,  which  from  the  depths  of  m}-  being  reacted  on 
the  depths  of  my  soul.  This  dull  sensation,  —  a  warn- 
ing, a  pleasure,  a  pain,  a  promise,  a  realitj^  —  this 
happiness  which  is  mine  only  in  all  this  world,  and  is  a 
secret  between  me  and  God  ;  this  m3'stery  tells  me  that 
the  rock  shall  be  clothed  with  flowers,  that  the  joyous 
laughter  of  a  family  shall  echo  here,  that  my  womb  is 
blessed,  and  shall  give  life  abundantly.  I  have  long 
felt  myself  born  to  be  a  mother.     Therefore  the  first 


Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women.     179 

certainty  I  received  of  bearing  another  life  within  me 
has  brought  me  blessed  consolations.  A  might}'  joy 
has  crowned  the  long,  long  days  of  devotion,  which  in 
themselves  were  a  joy  to  Louis.  "  Self-devotion  ! "  I 
said  to  myself,  "  is  it  not  more  than  love  ;  is  it  not  the 
highest  of  all  ecstasy,  the  generative  ecstacy  ?  Art  thou 
not,  O  Devotion,  the  cause  that  leads  to  the  effect, — the 
mysterious,  unwearying  divinity  hidden  beneath  innum- 
erable spheres  in  that  unknown  centre  through  which 
the  worlds  must  pass?"  Devotion,  alone  with  its  se- 
cret, filled  with  pleasures  secretly  enjoyed,  on  which  no 
human  being  can  cast  an  eye  profane,  and  which  none 
can  suspect ;  Devotion,  a  jealous  God  and  a  mighty,  a 
conquering  God,  inexhaustible,  because  derived  from 
the  very  essence  of  things,  and  thus  ever  equal  to  himself 
in  spite  of  the  strain  upon  his  forces,  —  Devotion !  ah, 
yes,  there  is  the  sign-manual  of  my  life. 

Love,  Louise,  is  the  action  of  Felipe  upon  you,  but 
the  shining  of  my  life  upon  the  family  will  produce  an 
incessant  action  of  that  little  world  on  me.  Your 
beautiful  gilded  harvest  will  pass;  mine,  though  delayed, 
will  be  more  durable.  It  will  renew  itself  again  and 
again.  Love  is  the  sweetest  larceny  that  Society  ever 
made  from  Nature,  but  maternity,  is  not  that  Nature 
herself  in  her  highest  joys  ?  My  tears  are  dried.  Love 
has  made  my  Louis  happy,  but  marriage  has  made  me 
a  mother  and  I  will  be  happy  too  ! 


180     Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women. 

So  thinking  I  came  home  to  my  white  manor-house 
with  its  green  blinds,  and  now  I  write  you. 

Dear,  the  most  natural  and  the  most  surprising  fact 
of  a  woman's  life  exists  in  me  for  the  last  six  months. 
But  I  must  tell  you,  in  a  whisper,  that  it  has  not 
troubled  in  an}^  way  either  my  heart  or  my  intellect. 
I  see  them  all  happy  about  me.  The  future  grand- 
father has  become  like  a  child  himself;  the  father,  on 
the  contrar}^,  is  grave  and  anxious.  Both  are  full  of 
little  cares  for  me ;  they  talk  to  me  of  the  happiness  of 
being  a  mother.  Alas  !  I  alone  feel  nothing;  I  dare 
not  tell  3'ou  the  state  of  absolute  insensibility  in  which 
I  find  myself.  I  fib  a  little,  so  as  not  to  sadden  their 
joy.  But  I  may  speak  honestly  to  you,  and  I  must 
admit  that  so  far  as  I  have  gone,  maternity  begins  in 
the  imagination. 

Louis  was  as  surprised  as  I  was  by  my  pregnancy. 
The  child  has  come  of  itself  without  other  call  than  his 
impatient  wishes.  Chance,  my  dear,  is  the  god  of 
maternity.  Though  such  accidents  are  in  harmony 
with  the  general  desire  of  nature,  my  doctor,  when  I 
questioned  him,  did  not  deny  that  the  children  whom 
we  so  tenderly  call  "  the  children  of  love  "  are  usually 
handsome  and  intelligent;  and  that  their  life  is  often, 
as  it  were,  protected  by  the  happiness  that  shone  like  a 
brilliant  star  on  their  conception.  Perhaps,  my  own 
Louise,  you  will  have  in  your  motherhood  joys  that  I 


Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women.     181 

can  never  know  in  mine.  Perhaps  a  woman  loves  the 
child  of  a  man  adored  as  you  adore  Felipe  better  than 
she  can  love  the  child  of  a  husband  married  from  dut}' 
or  for  the  mere  sake  of  being  married. 

These  thoughts,  kept  in  the  depths  of  my  heart,  add 
to  the  other  grave  thoughts  which  the  hope  of  mother- 
hood has  brought  me.  But,  as  there  can  be  no  famil}^ 
without  a  child,  I  long  to  hasten  the  moment  when  the 
pleasures  of  the  Family  will  begin  for  me  and  be,  thence- 
forth, m}^  sole  existence.  Just  now  my  life  is  all  sus- 
pense and  mystery.  I  am  extremely  curious  to  know 
the  moment  in  life  when  motherhood  begins.  Surely 
it  cannot  be  in  the  midst  of  those  dreadful  pains  I 
begin  to  fear. 

Adieu,  my  happy  one  !  adieu,  you  in  whom  I  live  and 
fancy  all  those  beautiful  loves,  those  jealousies  of  a 
look,  those  whispers  in  the  ear,  those  pleasures  which 
wrap  us,  as  it  were,  in  another  atmosphere,  fill  us  with 
another  blood,  another  hght,  another  life.  Ah !  my 
treasure,  I,  too,  know  what  love  is.  Don't  weary  of 
telling  me  all.  Let  us  keep  firmly  to  our  agreement. 
As  for  me,  I  shall  spare  you  nothing. 

No,  I  will  speak  openl}-  and  tell  you,  in  order  to  end 
this  letter  soberly,  that  in  rereading  yours  an  uncon- 
querable fear  has  come  over  me.  It  seems  to  me  as 
though  your  splendid  love  was  a  defiance  of  God.  Will 
not  the  sovereign  master  of  this  world,  Misfortune,  be 


182     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women. 

angry  at  having  no  part  in  3'our  festival?  Was  there 
ever  a  glorious  happiness  that  he  did  not  overthrow  it? 
Ah !  Louise,  do  not  forget  in  the  midst  of  3'our  great 
good  fortune  to  pray  to  God.  Do  good,  be  charitable 
and  kind;  exorcise  adversity  by  humbleness.  I  am 
more  pious  now,  since  my  marriage,  than  I  was  in  the 
convent.  You  never  speak  to  me  of  religion.  In 
adoring  Felipe  j-ou  seem  to  reverse  the  proverb,  and  to 
care  more  for  the  saint  than  for  God.  But  perhaps  my 
fears  come  only  from  the  excess  of  my  love.  You  go 
together  to  church  and  do  good  in  secret,  don't  you  ? 

I  am  afraid  you  will  think  me  verj^  provincial  in  thus 
ending  my  letter;  but  remember,  dear,  that  my  fears 
are  prompted  by  friendship,  —  friendship  such  as  La 
Fontaine  made  it,  uneas}^  and  alarmed  by  a  dream,  a 
thought  that  is  still  all  misty.  You  deserve  to  be 
happy,  for  j^ou  think  of  me  in  your  happiness.  And  I 
think  of  you,  dear,  in  my  monotonous  existence,  which 
is  a  little  gray,  but  full,  full !  sober,  but  productive ! 

And  so,  God  bless  you ! 


XXIX. 

MONSIEUR   DE   L'eSTORADE   TO   MADAME   DE   MACUMER. 

January,  1826. 
Madame,  —  My  wife  is  anxious  thatj'ou  shall  not  learn 
through  the  common  means  of  a  billet  de  /aire  pari 


Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women.     183 

of  an  event  which  has  given  us  great  happiness.  She 
has  just  given  birth  to  a  fine  boy,  whose  christening 
we  shall  delay  until  3^our  return  to  Chantepleurs. 
Renee  and  I  hope  you  will  then  push  on  to  La  Crampade 
and  be  the  godmother  of  our  first-born.  In  this  hope 
I  have  just  inscribed  the  boy  on  the  civil  register  as 
Armand-Louis  de  I'Estorade.  Our  dear  Renee  suffered 
much,  with  angelic  patience.  You  know  her,  —  she  was 
supported,  under  this  first  trial  of  her  vocation  as 
mother,  by  a  sense   of  the  happiness  she   was   giving  i 

to_us.  ^^io(y'^'^ 

Without  committing  myself  to  the  rather  ridiculous 
exaggerations  of  fathers  who  are  fathers  for  the  first 
time,  I  believe  I  may  assure  you  that  our  little  Armand 
is  very  handsome ;  you  will  easily  believe  it  when  I 
tell  you  that  he  has  Renee's  features  and  Renee's  eyes. 
That  shows  that  be  is  clever  already. 

Now  that  the  doctor  and  the  accoucheur  assure  us 
that  Renee  is  out  of  all  danger,  that  the  child  sucks 
well  and  the  milk  is  abundant,  —  for  nature  is  so  rich  and 
sound  in  her !  —  my  father  and  I  are  free  to  give  way 
to  our  great  joy.  Madame,  that  joy  is  so  great,  so  full, 
it  has  so  changed  the  whole  existence  of  my  wife  and 
brought  such  brightness  to  the  household,  that  I  cannot 
but  wish  the  same  happiness  for  3^ou.  Renee  has  pre- 
pared an  apartment  for  3'ou,  which  we  should  like  to 
make  more  worthy  of  our  guests,  but  where  you  will,  at 


184     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women. 

any  rate,  be  received  with  fraternal  cordiality,  if  not 
with  splendor. 

Renee  has  told  me,  madame,  of  your  kind  intentions 
toward  us,  and  I  take  this  occasion,  as  being  particu- 
larly fehcitious,  to  thank  you  for  them.  The  birth  of  my 
son  has  determined  my  father  to  make  sacrifices  to 
which  old  men  cannot  always  bring  themselves.  He 
has  lately  bought  two  estates.  La  Crampade  brings 
in  about  thirty  thousand  francs  a  year.  My  father 
will  petition  the  king  to  allow  him  to  entail  it ;  and  if 
you  will  obtain  for  him,  and  not  for  me,  the  title  you 
mention  in  your  last  letter  you  will  be  serving  the 
interests  of  your  godson. 

As  for  me,  I  shall  take  your  advice  and  enter  the 
Chamber,  partly  for  the  purpose  of  bringing  you  and 
Renee  together  during  the  sessions.  But  nothing  will 
give  me  more  courage  than  to  feel  that  3'ou  will  be  the 
protectress  of  my  little  Armand.  Let  us  know  that 
you  will  come,  you  so  gracious  and  beautiful,  so  noble 
and  brilliant,  and  play  your  part  of  fairy  godmother  to 
our  eldest  son.  You  will  thus  enable  me  to  add 
eternal  gratitude  to  the  feelings  of  respectful  affection 
with  which  I  have  the  honor  to  be 

Your  very  humble  and  very  obedient  servant, 

Louis  de  l'Estorade. 


Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women,     185 
XXX. 

MADAME    DE   MACUMER   TO    MADAME    DE    l'eSTORADE. 

January,  1826. 

Macumer  waked  me  just  now  to  give  me  your  husband's 
letter,  my  angel.  I  begin  by  saying  yes.  We  shall  go 
to  Chantepleurs  in  April.  It  will  be  to  me  pleasure 
upon  pleasure  to  go  on  to  La  Crampade,  to  see  you, 
and  to  be  godmother  to  3'our  first  child.  But  Macumer 
must  be  the  godfather.  A  Catholic  alliance  with  another 
sponsor  would  be  odious  to  me.  Ah  !  if  you  could  have 
seen  the  expression  of  his  face  when  I  told  him  that, 
you  would  understand  how  that  angel  loves  me. 

"  I  am  all  the  more  anxious  that  you  should  go 
with  me  to  La  Crampade,  Felipe,"  I  said,  "  because  we 
might,  possibl}',  have  a  child  there.  I,  too,  I  want 
to  be  a  mother,  —  though,  to  be  sure,  I  should  be 
terribly  torn  between  a  child  and  you.  In  the  first 
place  if  I  saw  you  liking  an}^  living  creature,  even  m}^ 
son,  better  than  me  I  don't  know  what  would  happen  ; 
Medea  maj'  have  been  right,  after  all ;  there  's  a  world 
of  good  sense  in  the  ancients  !  " 

He  began  to  laugh.  So,  my  treasure,  you  have  the 
fruit  without  the  flowers,  and  I  have  the  flowers  without 
the  fruit.     The  contrast  of  our  fates   continues.     We 


186     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women, 

are  philosophers  enough  to  seek,  and  to  find,  some  day, 
the  meaning  and  the  moral  of  it.  Bah !  I  have  only 
been  married  ten  months  ;  there  's  not  much  time  lost ; 
I  can't  make  fate  out  of  that ! 

We  are  leading  the  dissipated  and  yet  full  and 
abounding  life  of  happy  people.  The  days  seem  only 
too  short.  Society,  which  now  sees  me  in  the  guise  of 
wife  and  woman,  thinks  the  Baronne  de  Macumer  much 
handsomer  than  Louise  de  Chaulieu  ;  happy  love  has  its 
paints  and  patches.  When,  on  a  bright,  sunshiny  da}', 
with  the  hoar  frost  hanging  to  the  trees  of  the  Champs- 
Ely  sees  in  white  and  starry  garlands,  we  drive,  Felipe 
and  I,  in  our  coupe  before  all  Paris,  united  there  where, 
only  a  year  ago,  we  were  so  far  asunder,  man}'  thoughts 
flock  into  my  mind,  and  I  fear  to  become  too  insolent 
in  my  happiness,  —  as  you  warned  me  I  should,  Renee, 
in  your  last  letter. 

If  I  am  to  know  nothing  of  the  joys  of  motherhood, 
you  will  tell  them  to  me ;  and  I  shall  be  a  mother 
through  you ;  but  in  my  opinion  there  can  be  nothing 
comparable  to  the  delights  of  love.  You  will  think  me 
eccentric,  fantastic,  but  a  dozen  times  in  the  last  ten 
months  I  have  wished  to  die  before  I  was  thirty,  in  all 
the  splendor  of  life,  among  the  roses  of  love,  in  the 
bosom  of  joys ;  to  go  away  satisfied,  without  disap- 
pointment, having  lived  in  the  sunshine,  breathed  the 
free  ether,  lost  nothing  of  my   crown,  —  not  a  leaflet, 


Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women.     187 

—  and  kept  my  illusions,  dying  partly  for  love's  sake. 
For  think  what  it  would  be  to  live  on  with  a  young 
heart  in  an  old  body ;  to  meet  cold  looks  and  unre- 
sponsive faces  in  a  world  where  all  men,  even  the  most 
indifferent,  smiled  upon  me ;  to  be  in  short,  a  middle- 
aged  woman  !    Why,  it  is  hell  forestalled  ! 

We  have  had,  FeHpe  and  I,  our  first  quarrel  on  this 
very  subject.  I  said  I  wished  him  to  have  strength  of 
mind  enough  to  kill  me  as  I  slept,  without  m}-  knowing 
it,  so  that  I  might  go  from  one  dream  to  another.  The 
monster  would  not  hear  of  it.  I  threatened  to  leave 
him  alone  in  life,  and  the  poor  fellow  turned  pale.  The 
great  constitutional  minister,  m}^  dear,  is  a  baby  in  my 
hands.  It  is  incredible  what  youth  and  simplicity  he 
hides  under  his  Spanish  gravit}^  Now  that  I  think 
aloud  with  him  as  I  do  with  you,  and  have  put  him  on 
this  footing  of  absolute  confidence,  we  are  constantly 
amazing  one  another. 

My  dear,  the  two  lovers,  Felipe  and  Louise,  wish  to 
send  a  present  to  the  new  mother.  It  must  be  some- 
thing that  pleases  her.  Now  tell  me  frankly  what  3'ou 
would  like,  for  we  hate  the  vulgar  fashion  of  "  sur- 
prises." We  want  to  remind  you  of  ourselves  by  some 
pleasant  souvenir,  —  something  that  you  will  use  every 
day,  and  something,  too,  that  will  not  get  worn  out 
b}^  use.  Our  gayest,  happiest  meal,  for  then  we  are 
always   alone   together,  is  breakfast.     I  have  a  fancy 


188     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women, 

therefore  to  send  you  a  breakfast  service,  the  designs 
on  which  shall  all  be  children.  If  j'ou  approve,  answer 
Immediately  ;  for  if  I  am  to  bring  it  to  you,  it  must  be 
ordered  at  once  ;  the  artists  of  Paris  are  like  the  slug- 
gard kings.     This  is  to  be  my  offering  to  Lucina. 

Adieu,  dear  wet-nurse ;  I  wish  you  all  the  motherl}^ 
joys,  and  I  await  with  impatience  the  first  letter  in 
which  you  will  tell  me  everything.  That  mention  of 
an  accoucheur  in  your  husband's  letter  made  me  shud- 
der. Poor  Renee !  a  child  costs  dear,  doesn't  it?  I 
will  tell  my  godchild  some  day  how  much  he  ought  to 
love  3'ou. 

A  thousand  kisses,  my  angel. 


XXXI. 

MADAME   DE   l'ESTORADE   TO    MADAME    DE    MACUMER. 

It  is  nearly  five  months  since  my  confinement,  and  in 
all  that  time,  my  dear  soul,  I  have  not  had  one  little 
moment  in  which  to  write  to  you.  When  3'ou  are  a 
mother  you  will  excuse  me  more  than  yon  do  now,  — 
for  I  see  3'ou  mean  to  punish  me  by  writing  seldom. 
Do  write  to  me,  darling.  Tell  me  your  pleasures, 
paint  me  your  joys  with  those  grand  tints  of  3'ours ; 
splash  in  the  ultramarine  and  don't  be  afraid  to  pain 


Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women.     189 

me,  for  I  am  happy  now,  —  happier  than  you  can  ever 
imagine. 

I  went  to  be  churched  in  great  state ;  which  is 
always  the  way  in  the  old  families  of  Provence.  The 
two  grandfathers,  Louis's  father  and  mine,  each  gave 
me  an  arm.  Ah !  never  did  I  kneel  before  God  in 
such  a  transport  of  gratitude.  I  have  so  many  things 
to  say  to  you,  so  many  feelings  to  describe  to  you,  that 
I  don't  know  where  to  begin  ;  but,  from  the  innermost 
centre  of  it  all  rises  one  radiant  thought,  —  that  of  my 
prayer  in  church ! 

When,  in  that  sacred  place,  where  so  often  I  had 
doubted  life  and  the  future,  I  found  myself  transformed 
into  a  joyful  mother,  I  thought  I  saw  the  Virgin  of  the 
altar,  bending  her  head  and  calling  me  to  look  at  the 
Divine  Infant,  who  seemed  to  smile  upon  me.  With 
what  hoi}'  effusion  of  celestial  love  I  presented  our 
little  Armand  for  the  Church's  benediction ;  the  rector 
privately  baptized  him  while  awaiting  the  grand  cere- 
mon3\    But  you  will  see  us  together,  Armand  and  me  ! 

My  child  —  why,  here  am  I  calling  3'ou  my  child! 
but  that 's  because  it  is  the  sweetest  word  that  comes 
to  the  heart  and  mind  and  lips  of  a  mother.  So,  dear 
child,  to  give  you  all  the  history  of  my  new  life,  I 
dragged  myself  languidly  about  the  gardens  the  last 
two  months,  wearied,  worn  out  with  the  oppression  of 
a  burden  I  did  not  think  could  be  so  dear  and  sweet, 


190     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women. 

in  spite  of  its  discomforts.  I  felt  such  terrible  appre- 
hensions, I  had  such  deadly  forebodings  that  hope  was 
not  my  strongest  feeling.  I  used  to  reason  with  myself 
and  try  to  think  that  nothing  Nature  wills  ought  to  be 
feared ;  I  vowed  to  myself  that  I  would  live  to  be  a 
mother.  Alas !  for  all  this,  I  felt  nothing  in  my  heart 
of  motherhood,  even  though  I  thought  incessantly  of 
the  child  that  stirred  within  me ;  and  even  that  —  I 
mean  those  movements  of  an  unknown  life,  which  may 
be  pleasant  when  we  have  already  had  children  — 
causes  more  surprise  than  pleasure  the  first  time.  I 
speak  to  3'ou  frankly  of  myself,  who  am  neither  false 
nor  affected,  and  whose  fruition  is  more  the  gift  of  God, 
than  of  love.  But  a  truce  to  those  past  sadnesses, 
which  will  never  come  back,  I  believe. 

When  the  crisis  came  I  had  gathered  within  me  the 
elements  of  such  resistance  that  I  bore  the  horrible  tor- 
ture marvellously,  so  they  tell  me.  There  was,  dearest, 
nearly  one  hour  during  which  I  fell  into  a  sort  of  insen- 
sibility, the  effects  of  which  were  those  of  a  dream.  I 
felt  I  was  two  beings :  one,  a  torn  and  tortured  envel- 
ope ;  the  other,  a  placid  soul.  In  that  fantastic  state, 
suffering  bloomed  like  a  garland  above  my  head ;  it 
seemed  as  though  a  rose  issued  from  my  skull  and 
grew,  and  grew,  and  wrapped  me  round.  The  rosy 
color  of  that  flower  crimsoned  the  air.  I  saw  red. 
When  I  thus  reached  the  moment  at  which  soul  and 


Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women.     191 

body  seem  to  separate,  a  pain,  which  made  me  think 
of  instant  death,  laid  hold  of  me.  I  uttered  dreadful 
cries ;  then  I  found  fresh  strength  to  suffer  more. 
The  frightful  clamor  of  my  cries  was  suddenl}"  drowned 
in  me  by  the  delicious  song  of  the  silver}'  wailings  of 
my  little  being.  No,  nothing  can  describe  to  you  that 
moment !  It  seemed  to  me  that  the  world  was  crying 
with  my  cry,  that  all  was  pain  and  clamor,  and  then 
that  all  was  hushed  by  that  weak  wail  of  an  infant. 

The}"  put  me  back  into  m}^  great  bed,  which  seemed 
to  me  like  paradise,  though  I  was  much  exhausted. 
Three  or  four  joyous  faces,  bathed  in  tears,  showed 
me  the  child.     My  dear,   I  was  horrified ! 

"That  little  monkey!"  I  cried,  '^are  you  sure  it 
is  a  child?'' 

Then  I  turned  over  on  my  side,  wretched  at  not 
feeling  more  of  a  mother  than  that. 

*' Don't  worry  yourself,  my  dear,''  said  niy  mother, 
who  was  taking  care  of  me,  ••'  you  have  given  birth  to 
one  of  the  finest  children  in  the  world.  Be  careful  not 
to  fret  3'our  imagination  ;  give  all  your  mind  to  becom- 
ing an  animal ;  be  the  cow  that  feeds  to  get  her  milk." 

So  I  went  to  sleep  with  the  firm  intention  of  letting 
myself  go  at  the  will  of  Nature. 

Ah !  my  angel,  the  awakening  after  pain,  after  those 
mist}^  sensations,  those  days  when  all  seemed  dark, 
laborious,  doubtful,  was  divine !     The  shadows  were 


192     Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women. 

alive  with  a  sensation  far,  far,  be3'ond  the  delight  of 
hearing  ra}^  child's  first  cry.  My  heart,  my  soul,  ray 
being,  a  self  unknown  awoke  in  its  shell,  so  gray  and 
painful  hitherto,  —  awoke  like  a  flower  breaking  from 
its  calyx  at  the  call  of  the  sun.  The  little  monster 
took  my  breast  and  sucked ;  there,  there  was  the  fiat 
lux!  Suddenly,  I  was  a  mother.  Here  is  happiness, 
here  is  joy,  joy  ineffable  —  though  it  may  not  be  with- 
out some  pains. 

Oh !  ray  Louise,  how  3'ou,  too,  will  appreciate,  when 
it  comes  to  3'ou,  a  pleasure  that  is  all  our  own,  between 
our  child  and  God.  The  little  being  knows  absolutely 
nothing  but  our  breast.  There  is  for  him  but  that  one 
shining  spot  in  all  the  world ;  he  loves  it  with  all  his 
strength,  he  thinks  of  nothing  but  this  fountain  of  his 
life  ;  he  leaves  it  to  sleep,  he  wakes  to  return  to  it. 
His  lips  are  love  inexpressible,  and  when  the}'^  fasten 
there  they  cause  both  pain  and  pleasure,  —  pleasure 
which  stretches  into  pain,  pain  which  ends  in  pleasure. 
I  cannot  explain  to  you  a  sensation  which  radiates  from 
my  bosom  to  the  sources  of  life ;  it  seemed  that  a 
thousand  rays  start  from  that  centre  to  rejoice  both 
heart  and  soul.  To  bear  a  child  is  nothing ;  to  suckle 
it,  nourish  it,  is  bearing  it  for  all  time. 

Oh  !  Louise,  there  are  no  caresses  of  any  lover  that 
can  equal  that  of  the  little  rosy  fingers  which  move  so 
softly  trying  to  clutch  at  life.     Ah!  those  looks  that 


.     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Wome7i.     193 

a  babe  casts  first  at  our  breast  and  then  in  our  eyes  ! 
What  dreams  we  have  as  we  see  him  hanging  by  the 
lips  to  his  treasure !  And  he  fastens  not  less  to  the 
forces  of  the  mind  than  to  those  of  the  body ;  he 
employs  both  blood  and  intellect ;  he  satisfies  beyond 
desire.  The  adorable  sensation  of  his  first  cry,  which 
was  to  me  what  the  first  ray  of  light  must  have  been 
to  the  earth,  came  over  me  again  when  I  felt  my  milk 
filling  his  mouth,  when  his  eye  first  looked  at  me,  when 
I  saw  in  his  first  smile  his  first  thought.  He  has 
laughed,  dear !  Well,  that  smile,  that  look,  that  bite, 
that  cry,  those  four  enjoyments  are  infinite ;  they  go 
to  the  depths  of  the  heart,  and  stir  chords  there  that 
they  alone  can  touch.  The  worlds  must  be  fastened 
upon  God  as  a  child  is  fastened  to  every  fibre  of  its 
mother;  God  is  the  great  mother's  heart.  There  is 
nothing  visible,  nothing  perceptible  in  conception,  nor 
even  in  pregnancy ;  but  to  nurse,  my  Louise,  that  is 
a  joy  for  every  moment.  We  see  what  becomes  of  our 
milk ;  it  makes  flesh,  it  blossoms  at  the  tips  of  those 
darling  fingers,  which  are  like  flowers  in  their  delicacy ; 
it  makes  those  transparent  nails,  it  goes  to  the  silky 
hair,  it  moves  in  those  little  feet.  A  babj-'s  feet !  why, 
they  are  a  language  !  that 's  how  he  first  expresses  him- 
self. To  feed,  to  suckle  !  Louise,  it  is  a  transformation 
I  follow  hour  by  hour  with  wondering  eye.     The  cries 

—  you  do  not  hear  them  by  the  ear,  but  by  the  heart 

1  o 


194     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married   Women.    •' 

—  the  smiles  of  eyes  and  lips,  the  kicking  of  the  little 
feet,  ah !  }■  ou  understand  them  as  though  God  were 
writing  words  to  you  in  letters  of  fire  on  the  firmament. 
There  is  nothing  else  in  all  the  world  that  interests  you  ; 
the  father  ?  bah !  one  would  kill  him  if  he  woke  the 
babe !  We  alone  are  all  the  world  for  the  child,  as 
the  child  is  all  the  world  for  us.  We  are  so  sure  our 
life  is  shared ;  we  are  so  quickly  compensated  for  the 
pains  we  have  borne,  the  sufferings  we  endure !  —  for 
there  are  sufferings ;  may  you  never  have,  as  I  have, 
a  broken  breast,  a  wound  those  little  ros}'  lips  tear 
open  daily.  It  would  be  torture,  without  the  joy  of 
watching  the  bab}^  mouth  besmeared  with  milk ;  and 
it  is  a  sad  rebuke  to  beaut}^  for  it  onl}'  happens,  they 
tell  me,  to  delicate  skins. 

In  five  months  m}^  young  monkey  has  grown  the 
prettiest  creature  that  ever  mother  bathed  with  joy- 
ful tears,  and  washed  and  brushed  and  combed  and 
decked  with  baby  finery,  —  for  God  knows  with  what 
Indefatigable  ardor  we  dress  and  brush  and  comb  and 
wash  and  change  and  kiss  these  little  flowers !  But 
my  monkey  is  now  no  longer  a  monkey,  he's  a  "bab}^' 
as  my  English  nurse  calls  him  ;  a  pink  and  white  baby  ; 
and,  as  he  feels  he  is  loved,  he  does  n't  cry  too  much. 
But,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  am  seldom  away  from  him,  so 
he  has  n*t  much  chance  to  cry ;  I  try  to  enter  into  his 
little  soul. 


Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married    Women.     195 

Dear,  something  has  come  into  m}"  heart  for  Louis, 
—  a  feeling  which  is  not  love,  but  which  in  a  loving 
woman  would  be  the  crown  of  love.  I  almost  think 
this  tenderness,  this  gratitude  goes  beyond  love.  From 
all  that  you  have  told  me,  darling,  there  seems  to  me 
too  much  of  earth  in  love  ;  but  here  I  find  —  how  shall 
I  sa}^  it?  —  something  religious,  something  divine  in 
the  affection  a  happy  mother  gives  to  him  from  whom 
proceed  these  long,  these  eternal  joj'S.  The  joy  of  a 
mother  is  a  light  which  lightens  the  future,  but  reflects 
upon  the  past  the  charm  of  memory. 

Old  Monsieur  de  I'Estorade  and  Louis  have  redoubled 
all  their  kindness  to  me ;  I  am  like  a  new  person  to 
them  ;  their  words,  their  looks  go  to  m}^  soul.  The 
old  grandfather  is  like  a  child  himself;  he  looks  at  me 
admiringly.  The  first  time  I  went  down  to  breakfast 
and  he  saw  me  eating,  and  then  giving  suck  to  his 
grandson,  he  wept.  The  tears  in  his  dry  old  eyes, 
where  money  usually  shines,  did  me  inexpressible  good  ; 
it  seemed  to  me  that  the  good  man  felt  my  joys. 

As  for  Louis,  the  very  trees  and  the  stones  in  the 
high-road  would  know  he  had  a  son.  He  spends  Whole 
hours  gazing  at  that  sleeping  baby.  He  says  he  does  n't 
know  when  he  shall  get  accustomed  to  it.  These  ex- 
cessive demonstrations  of  jo}^  have  revealed  to  me  the 
extent  of  their  fears  and  apprehensions. 

My  poor  Louis  has  changed  suddenly  for  the  better. 


196     Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married   Women. 

He  reads  and  studies  much  more  than  he  did.  The 
child  has  doubled  the  ambition  of  the  father.  As  for 
me,  my  dear  soul,  I  grow  happier  and  happier  every 
hour ;  for  every  hour,  everj"  moment  brings  a  new  tie 
between  a  mother  and  her  child.  What  1  feel  within 
me  proves  to  me  that  this  feeling  is  imperishable, 
natural,  equable  at  all  moments ;  whereas,  1  do  suspect 
love  of  being  intermittent.  No  one  can  love  the  same 
at  all  moments  ;  the  fabric  of  life  cannot  always  be  em- 
broidered in  vivid  colors  ;  love  must  and  ought  to  cease. 
But  motherhood  has  no  decline  to  fearj  it  increases 
with  every  need  of  the  child  ;  it  develops  as  he  develops. 
Isn't  it  at  once  a  passion,  a  need,  a  sentiment,  a  duty, 
a  necessit}^,  —  happiness,  in  short? 

Yes,  my  darling,  this  is  the  special  life  of  woman- 
hood. Our  craving  for  self-devotion  is  satisfied ;  we 
can  find  no  cause  for  jealousies  here.  Perhaps  it  is  for 
us  the  only  point  at  which  Nature  and  Society  are  in 
harmony.  Here  Societ^^  has  enriched  Nature  ;  that  is, 
it  has  added  to  the  instinct  of  motherhood  the  spirit  of 
Family,  the  continuation  of  name,  blood,  and  fortune. 
With  what  love  a  woman  ought  to  surround  the  dear 
being  who  has  first  made  known  to  her  these  wondrous 
joys,  who  has  first  brought  forth  the  powers  of  her  soul, 
and  taught  her  the  great  art  of  motherhood  !  The  law 
of  primogeniture,  which  has  come  through  all  ages  from 
the  origin  of  the  world,  and  is  part  of  Society  itself, 
cannot,  it  seems  to  me,  be  put  in  question. 


Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married   Women.     197 

Ah,  how  many  things  an  infant  teaches  its  mother ! 
There  are  so  many  pledges  made  between  ourselves 
and  virtue  in  the  ceaseless  protection  we  give  to  its 
feeble  being,  that  a  woman  is  not  in  her  true  sphere 
until  she  is  a  mother.  Then  only  do  her  powers  unfold  ; 
then  she  puts  in  practice  the  duties  of  her  life ;  then 
she  has  all  its  joys  and  all  its  pleasures.  A  woman 
who  is  not  a  mother  is,  must  be,  an  incomplete  being ; 
she  has  niis^e^d_her_jdestin3'.  Make  haste  to  be  a 
mother,  my  darling ;  multiply  your  present  happiness 
with  jny  ecstasy. 

I  left  m}'  letter  abruptly,  hearing  your  godson  cry  ;  I 
heard  him  from  the  farther  end  of  the  garden.  I  can't 
let  this  letter  go  without  adding  a  few  words ;  I  have 
just  reread  it,  and  I  am  a  little  shocked  at  the  common- 
ness of  some  of  the  sentiments  contained  in  it.  What 
I  feel,  Louise,  I  think  all  mothers  must  feel  as  I  do, 
must  express  as  I  do ;  but  perhaps  you  will  laugh  at 
me,  as  we  laugh  at  those  fathers  who  talk  about  the 
beauty  and  intellect  of  their  progeny,  and  think  none 
other  is  like  it.  But  after  all,  m}'  treasure,  the  grand 
meaning  of  this  letter  is  this  —  and  I  repeat  it :  I  am 
as  happy  now  as  I  was  unhappy  before.  This  manor 
is  to  me  the  promised  land.  I  have  crossed  m}-  desert. 
Athousand  kisses,  dearest !  Write  to  me.  I  can  now 
read  of  your  happiness  and  your  love  without  shedding 
tears.     Adieu. 


198     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married   Women. 
XXXII. 

MADAME    DE    MACDMER   TO   MADAME   DE    l'eSTORADE. 

March,  1826. 

Can  it  be  three  months,  dear  Renee,  since  I  wrote 
to  you,  and  since  yoxi  have  written  to  me?  I  am  the 
guiltiest  of  the  two,  for  I  did  not  answer  your  last 
letter.  But  you  are  not  touchy,  —  that  is,  you  never 
used  to  be. 

Your  silence  about  the  breakfast  service  made 
Macumer  and  me  conclude  that  you  agreed  to  our 
plan ;  and  the  charming  little  works  of  art  leave  Paris 
this  morning  for  Marseille.  The  artists  have  been  all 
these  months  about  them ;  and  when  Felipe  proposed 
to  me  to  go  and  see  the  service  before  it  was  packed, 
I  suddenly  came  to  a  sense  that  we  had  not  written  to 
each  other  since  that  letter  which  made  me  feel  I  was  a 
mother  with  you. 

My  dear,  this  terrible  Paris  !  that 's  my  excuse  ;  and 
now  I  should  like  to  hear  yours.  Oh,  the  world,  society, 
what  a  gulf !  Have  I  not  already  said  to  you  that  to 
live  in  Paris  one  must  be  Parisian.  The  world  here 
destroys  all  sentiments,  steals  your  time,  and  would 
destroy  your  heart  if  you  allowed  it.  What  an  amazing 
masterpiece  is  that  creation  of  Celimene  in  Moliere's 
''  Misanthrope !  "     She  is  the  woman  of  the  world  of 


Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women.     199 

Louis  XIV.'s  time,  and  ours  too,  —  the  woman  of  the 
world  of  all  epochs.  Where  should  I  be  without 
my  aegis,  without  m}'  Felipe's  love?  I  told  him  this 
morning,  thinking  of  these  things,  that  he  was  my 
saviour.  Though  my  evenings  are  given  up  to  fetes, 
balls,  concerts,  theatres,  I  find  at  home  the  joys  of  love 
and  its  sweet  follies,  which  expand  mj-  heart  and  efface 
the  stains  of  the  world. 

I  never  dine  at  home  except  on  the  da\'s  when  we  in- 
vite persons  whom  we  call  friends.  I  have  taken  a  day, 
Wednesday,  when  I  receive  ;  otherwise  I  am  seldom  in 
the.  house.  I  have-  entered  into  social  competition  with 
Mesdames  d'Espard  and  de  Maufrigneuse,  also  with  the 
old  Duchesse  de  Lenoncourt.  M}^  house  is  considered 
very  amusing.  I  have  allowed  myself  to  be  made  the 
fashion,  seeing  how  delighted  Felipe  is  with  my  success. 
I  give  him  all  my  mornings ;  but  from  four  in  the 
afternoon  till  two  o'clock  at  night  I  belong  to  Paris. 
Macumer  makes  an  admirable  master  of  the  house  ;  he 
is  so  witt}^  and  so  grave,  so  truly  a  grandee,  and  3'et  so 
gracious  and  graceful ;  he  would  make  a  woman  love 
him,  even  if  she  had  married  him  for  "convenience." 

My  father  and  mother  have  started  for  Madrid. 
Louis  XVIIL  being  dead,  the  duchess  had  no  difficulty 
in  getting  our  good  King  Charles  X.  to  appoint  her 
poet  as  second  secretary  to  the  embassy.  My  brother, 
the  Due  de  Rhetore,  deigns  to  look   upon   me   as  a 


200     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women. 

personage.  As  for  the  Comte  de  Chaulieu,  that  fancy 
soldier  owes  me  a  debt  of  eternal  gratitude.  My  for- 
tune was  used,  before  mj^  father's  departure,  in  buying 
and  entailing  on  him  an  estate  worth  forty  thousand 
francs  a  year,  and  in  bringing  about  his  marriage  with 
Mademoiselle  de  Mortsauf,  an  heiress  in  Touraine. 
The  king,  who  does  not  wish  the  name  and  titles  of  the 
houses  of  Lenoncourt  and  Givry  to  die  out,  is  about 
to  authorize  my  brother  by  letters-patent  to  take  the 
name,  title,  and  arms  of  Lenoncourt-Givry.  How  could 
a  king  of  France  allow  those  noble  blazons  and  that 
heroic  device,  Faciem  semper  monstramus,  to  perish? 
Mademoiselle  de  Mortsauf,  the  granddaughter  and  only 
heiress  of  the  Due  de  Lenoncourt-Givry,  will  have,  they 
sa}',  an  income  of  over  a  hundred  thousand  francs. 
My  father  stipulated  that  the  arms  of  the  Chauheus 
should  be  quartered  on  those  of  the  Lenoncourts.  My 
brother  will  therefore  be  Due  de  Lenoncourt-Chaulieu. 
The  brother  of  Mademoiselle  de  Mortsauf,  to  whom  this 
great  fortune  would  go  by  right,  is  in  the  last  stages 
of  consumption  ;  his  death  is  expected  at  any  moment. 
The  marriage  will  take  place  next  winter,  after  the 
mourning  is  over.  I  am  told  I  shall  have  a  charming 
sister-in-law  in  Madeleine  de  Mortsauf. 

So  you  see,  Renee,  how  wise  my  father  was  in  the 
arguments  he  used  to  me.  This  result  has  won  me  the 
admiration  of  a  great  many  persons,  and  it  explains  my 


Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women.     201 

marriage.  Because  of  his  old  affection  for  mj-  grand- 
mother, the  Prince  de  Talleyrand  extols  Macumer,  so 
that  our  success  in  the  world  is  now  complete.  I  reign 
in  this  Paris,  where  two  years  ago  I  was  of  no  account. 
Macumer  sees  his  happiness  envied  by  every  one,  for  I 
am  held  to  be  "the  most  brilliant  woman  in  Paris  ; " 
you  must  know  that  there  is  a  score  of  "the  most 
brilliant  women  in  Paris."  All  the  men  warble  notes 
of  love  to  me,  or  look  their  envy  with  their  eyes. 
Really  and  truly  there  is  in  this  concert  of  desires  and 
admirations  such  intense  satisfaction  to  one's  vanity 
that  I  now  understand  the  excessive  extravagance 
women  commit  to  enjoy  these  frivolous  and  passing 
pleasures.  Such  triumphs  intoxicate  one's  pride,  vanity, 
self-love,  —  in  short,  all  the  sentiments  that  make  our 
self.  This  perpetual  worship  inebriates  so  violently 
that  I  am  no  longer  surprised  to  see  how  egotistical, 
frivolous,  and  forgetful  women  are  in  this  whirl  of 
dissipation.  Society  goes  to  the  head.  We  lavish  the 
flowers  of  our  hearts  and  minds,  our  most  precious 
time,  our  most  generous  efforts,  on  persons  who  pay  us 
with  smiles  and  jealousy ;  who  exchange  the  false  coin 
of  their  phrases,  compliments,  and  adulation  against  the 
pure  gold  of  our  courage,  our  sacrifices,  our  efforts  to 
be  beautiful,  well-dressed,  witt}^,  affable,  and  charming 
to  all.  We  all  know  how  costly  this  business  is ;  we 
know  that  we  are  robbed  in  it,  and  yet  we  give  our- 


202     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married   Women. 

selves  up  to  it  all  the  same.  Ah !  my  dearest,  how 
one  thirsts  for  a  true  heart ;  how  precious  to  rac  are 
Felipe's  love  and  devotion  ;  and  how  I  love  3^ou  !  With 
what  joy  do  I  make  my  preparations  to  go  and  rest  at 
Chantepleurs,  away  from  the  comedies  of  the  rue  du  Bac 
and  the  salons  of  Paris.  I  have  just  reread  your  last 
letter,  and  I  can  no  better  describe  to  3'ou  this  infernal 
paradise  of  Paris  than  b}^  saying  that  it  is  impossible 
for  a  woman  of  the  world  to  be  a  mother. 

I  shall  see  you  soon,  dearest.  We  stay  a  week  at 
Chantepleurs,  and  shall  be  with  you  about  the  10th  of 
May.  Renee !  we  shall  meet  again  after  more  than 
two  3^ears !  What  changes !  We  are  both  women, 
wives,  —  I  the  happiest  of  mistresses,  you  the  happiest 
of  mothers.  If  I  have  not  written  to  you,  darling,  it 
is  not  from  forgetfulness.  And  my  godson,  the  little 
monkey,  is  he  still  as  pretty?  Does  he  do  me  credit? 
He  is  nearl}^  nine  months  old  now.  I  should  like  to  be 
present  when  he  takes  his  first  steps  in  the  world ;  but 
Macumer  says  that  precocious  children  seldom  walk 
at  ten  months  old.  What  famous  talks  we  shall  have, 
like  the  good  old  times  at  Blois !  I  shall  see,  too, 
whether  child-bearing  spoils  the  figure,  as  they  say  it 
does. 

If  you  answer,  all-glorious  mother,  direct  to 
Chantepleurs. 


Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married   Women.     203 
XXXIII. 

V 

MADAME   DE   l'eSTORADE    TO   MADAME   DE   MACUMER. 

Ah!  m}^  child,  if  j^ou  ever  become  a  mother  you 
will  know  if  it  is  possible  to  write  letters  during  the 
first  two  months  we  nurse  a  bab3\  Mary,  my  English 
nurse,  and  I  are  tired  out  all  the  time.  I  think  I  did 
not  tell  you  that  I  set  my  heart  on  making  everything 
myself.  Before  the  great  event  I  had  sewn  with  my 
own  fingers  all  the  baby-clothes,  and  embroidered  all 
the  caps.  I'm  a  slave,_my  darling,  a  slave  day  and 
night.  In  the  first  place,  Armand-Louis  sucks  when 
he  wants  to,  and  he  is  always  wanting.  Then  he  has 
to  be  washed  and  dressed  and  changed  so  often ;  and 
a  mother  loves  to  look  at  him  asleep,  and  sing  him  songs, 
and  carry  him  about  in  her  arms  if  the  weather  is  fine ; 
so  that  really  she  has  no  time  to  herself.  If  j^ou  have 
society  to  take  up  yours,  I  have  my  baby,  our  baby ! 
What  a  rich,  full  life !  Oh,  my  dearest,  3'ou  will  soon 
be  here,  and  you  shall  see  for  yourself! 

But  I  am  so  afraid  his  teething  will  begin  and  he  '11  be 
cross  when  you  are  here,  and  a  cry-baby.  He  does  n't 
cry  much  now,  but  then,  to  be  sure,  I  am  always  with 
him.  Children  only  cry  because  they  have  wants  nobody 
guesses,  but  I  am  on  the  look-out  for  all  of  his.     Oh, 


204     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married   Women. 

Louise,   my   heart   enlarges,   while   you   say  yours   is 
getting  belittled  in  the  service  of  the  world. 

I  am  expecting  you  with  all  the  impatience  of  a  hermit. 
I  want  to  know  what  j^ou  think  of  I'Estorade,  just  as, 
I  make  no  doubt,  you  want  to  know  what  I  think  of 
Macumer.  Write  me  from  your  last  night's  stopping- 
place.  My  men  wish  to  go  and  meet  our  illustrious 
guests.  I  welcome  you,  queen  of  Paris,  to  our  poor 
manor-house,  where  you  will  be  loved  indeed. 


XXXIV. 

MADAME  DE  MACUMER  TO  THE  VICOMTESSE  DE  l'eSTORADE. 

April,  1826. 

The  new  address  on  my  letter  will  announce  to  you, 
dearest,  the  success  of  mj^  solicitations.  Your  father- 
in-law  is  now  Comte  de  I'Estorade.  I  did  not  wish  to 
leave  Paris  without  obtaining  what  you  desired ;  and  I 
write  you  this  line  in  presence  of  the  Keeper  of  the 
Seals,  who  has  just  come  to  say  that  the  ordinance  is 
signed.     We  shall  meet  soon. 


Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  JVomen.     205 
XXXV. 


Marseille,  July. 
My  abrupt  departure  from  La  Crampade  must  have 
astonished  you,  and  I  am  ashamed  of  it ;  but  as  I  am 
truthful  in  all  things  and  love  you  as  deeply  as  ever, 
I  shall  tell  you  the  whole  trouble  candidly  in  four 
words,  —  I  am  horribly  jealous.  Felipe  looked  at  you 
too  much  ;  you  and  he  had  little  conversations  beneath 
your  rock  which  tortured  me ;  they  changed  my  nature 
and  made  me  bad.  Your  really  Spanish  beauty  must 
have  reminded  him  of  his  own  country  and  that  Marie 
Heredia,  of  whom  I  am  jealous  —  for  I  am  jealous 
of  the  past.  Your  magnificent  black  hair  and  your 
brown  eyes,  that  forehead  where  the  joys  of  maternity 
seem  to  put  into  relief  past  suffering  like  the  shadows 
thrown  b}"  a  radiant  light ;  that  purity  of  the  Southern 
skin,  whiter  than  my  blond  fairness,  that  grandeur  of 
form,  that  breast,  shining  among  its  laces  like  a 
delicious  fruit  when  3'ou  give  it  to  my  beautiful  god- 
son,—  all  that  wounded  both  my  eyes  and  my  heart. 
There  was  no  use  in  putting  blue-bells  among  my  curls, 
or  brightening  their  faded  fairness  with  cherry  ribbons. 
I  paled  before  a  Renee  I  never  dreamed  of  finding  in 
that  oasis  at  La  Crampade. 


206     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women. 

Felipe  envied  that  child,  too  much,  —  so  much  that  I 
began  to  hate  it.  Yes,  that  insolent  baby  life  which  fills 
your  home,  and  brightens  it,  and  laughs  and  cries  there, 
I  wiinted  it  for  my  own.  I  saw  regret  in  Macumer's 
eyes.  I  wept  for  two  whole  nights,  unknown  to  him. 
I  was  tortured  in  your  house.  You  are  too  beautiful  as 
a  woman,  too  happy  as  a  mother ;  I  cannot  stay  near 
you.  Ah !  hypocrite,  you  wrote  me  melancholy  letters, 
pitying  j^ourself !  In  the  first  place,  your  I'Estorade  is 
charming ;  he  talks  agreeabl}^ ;  his  hair  with  its  few 
white  threads  is  very  pretty ;  his  eyes  are  fine,  and  his 
Southern  manners  have  a  nameless  charm  which  pleases. 
From  what  I  have  seen  I  think  there  can  be  no  doubt  of 
his  election  as  deputy  from  the  Mouths-of-the-Rhone ; 
he  will  certainly  make  his  mark  in  the  Chamber,  and  we 
will  help  him,  for  I  shall  be  alwa3^s  at  your  service  in 
whatever  concerns  3'our  ambitions.  The  miseries  of  his 
exile  have  given  him  that  calm,  composed  air  which 
seems  to  me  to  be  at  least  one  half  of  statesmanship. 
In  my  opinion,  dear,  the  essential  thing  in  politics  is 
to  look  grave.  I  tell  Macumer  his  looks  ought  to  make 
him  a  great  statesman. 

Well,  now  that  I  have  seen  with  my  own  eyes  that 
you  are  happy,  I  wing  my  way  back,  contentedly,  to 
my  dear  Chantepleurs ;  where  Felipe  must  arrange  to 
be  a  father,  for  I  will  never  see  3'ou  again  until  I  have 
a  child  at  my  breast  as  beautiful  as  yours.     I  deserve 


Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women.     207 

all  the  names  you  choose  to  give  me ;  I  'm  absurd, 
infamous,  without  common-sense.  Yes,  a  woman  is 
all  that  when  she  is  jealous.  I  'm  not  angry  with  j'ou, 
but  I  suffered,  and  you  must  forgive  me  for  getting 
awa}^  from  that  suffering.  Two  days  more  and  I  should 
have  committed  some  dreadful  foil}'.  Yes,  I  should 
have  made  an  exhibition  of  bad  taste. 

But  in  spite  of  these  torments  which  gnawed  my 
heart,  I  am  glad  I  went,  glad  I  have  seen  you  so  beau- 
tiful, so  fruitful ;  still  my  friend  in  the  midst  of  3'our 
maternal  joys,  as  I  am  ever  yours  in  the  midst  of  my 
precious  loves.  Here,  at  Marseille,  a  few  miles  away 
from  you,  T  am  already  proud  of  you,  proud  of  that 
noble  mother  of  a  family  you  are  fated  to  become. 
With  what  strong  sense  you  divined  your  vocation ! 
you  seem  to  me  to  have  been  born  for  a  mother  rather 
than  for  love,  just  as  I  was  born  tor  love  rather  than 
for  motherhood.  Some  women  can  be  neither ;  they 
are  too  ugly  or  too  dull.  A  good  mother,  and  a  wife 
who  is  her  husband's  mistress,  should  have  at  all  times 
sense,  judgment,  intelligence,  and  yet  know  how  to 
emplo}'  the  exquisite  charms  of  womanhood.  Oh !  I 
observed  you  well ;  is  n't  that  as  good  as  telling  you, 
my  kitten,  that  I  admired  3'ou?  Yes,  your  children 
will  be  happy  ;  they  will  be  well  brought  up,  bathed  in 
the  fountains  of  your  tenderness,  taught  by  the  lights 
of  3'our  own  soul. 


208     Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women. 

Tell  the  truth  about  my  departure  to  Louis,  but  give 
it  some  colorable  pretext  in  the  ej'es  of  your  father-in- 
law.  Felipe  does  not  know  why  I  came  awa}^,  and  will 
never  know.  If  he  asks,  I  shall  invent  some  reason. 
Perhaps  I  will  tell  him  that  you  were  jealous  of  me. 
Grant  me  that  little  fib. 

Adieu  ;  I  write  in  haste  that  you  may  get  this  letter 
at  your  breakfast-hour ;  the  postilion  is  charged  to  give 
it  into  your  own  hand.  Come  to  Chantepleurs  in  October ; 
I  shall  be  all  alone  during  the  time  that  Macumer  is  in 
Sardinia,  where  he  wishes  to  make  great  improve- 
ments to  his  estates.  At  an}^  rate,  that 's  the  project 
he  has  in  mind  at  the  present  moment ;  it  is  a  fancy  of 
his  to  be  always  making  projects ;  it  makes  him  feel 
independent ;  but  I  notice  that  he  is  quite  uneasy  in 
telling  them  to  me.     Adieu. 


XXXVI. 

MADAME   DE   L*ESTORADE   TO    MADAME    DE    MACUMER. 

My  dear,  our  astonishment  was  inexpressible  when 
we  learned  at  breakfast-time  that  you  were  gone  ;  and 
when  the  postilion  who  took  3'ou  to  Marseille  brought 
me  your  craz}'  letter  my  amazement  was  beyond  words. 
Why,  your  husband   and  I  were  talking  of  3^ou  and 


Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women.     209 

3'our  happiness  on  "  Louise's  bench"  under  the  rock; 
and  you  are  very  wrong  to  be  displeased  b}^  it. 
Ingrata!  I  condemn  you  to  return  here  at  my  first 
call.  In  that  odious  letter,  scribbled  on  inn  paper ! 
3'ou  did  not  even  tell  me  where  3'OU  were  going  next ; 
so  I  direct  my  answer  to  Chantepleurs. 

Listen  to  me,  dear  sister  of  my  choice,  and  remember 
first  and  before  all,  that  I  want  you  happy.  Your  hus- 
band, my  Louise,  has  a  depth  of  soul  and  thought 
which  are  as  imposing  as  the  gravity  of  his  manner 
and  his  noble  countenance.  In  his  very  ugliness, 
which  is  so  distinguished,  in  that  velvet  glance  lies 
a  power  that  is  really  majestic  ;  it  was  therefore  some 
time  before  I  could  establish  an  intimacy  with  him, 
without  which  it  is  difficult  to  observe  a  nature  to  its 
depths.  The  man  has  been  a  diplomat,  remember,  and 
-  he  adores  3'ou  as  he  adores  God ;  therefore  he  would 
of  course  dissimulate  about  his  deepest  feelings.  And 
yet,  after  a  while,  I  ended  by  discovering,  without  his 
knowledge  and  in  spite  of  his  diplomac3',  certain 
things  which  3^ou,  m3'  darling,  have  no  idea  of. 

You  and  I  represent  two  things.  I  am  slighth^  the 
embodiment  of  Reason,  you  are  Imagination.  I  am 
grave  Dut3',  3"ou  are  gay  Love.  This  contrast,  which 
originally  existed  in  our  natures,  fate  has  been  pleased 
to  continue  in  the  circumstances  of  our  lives.  I  am  a 
humble  countr3"  viscountess,  ardentl3^  ambitious,  desir- 

14 


210     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women. 

ous  of  leading  her  family  to  honor  and  prosperity ; 
whereas  the  world  already  bows  down  to  the  Baron  de 
Macumer  ex-Due  de  Soria,  and  to  you,  duchess  by  right, 
who  reign  a  queen  in  Paris,  where  it  is  so  difficult  even 
for  kings  to  reign.  You  already  enjoy  a  fine  fortune, 
which  Macumer  will  double  if  he  carries  out  his  pro- 
jects in  Sardinia  on  his  vast  domains  ;  the  resources  of 
which  are  well-known,  by  the  bye,  at  Marseille.  Admit, 
therefore,  that  the  one  of  us  two  who  ought  to  be  jeal- 
ous is  I. 

However,  let  us  thank  God  that  our  hearts  are  both 
placed  too  high  to  suffer  our  friendship  to  descend  to 
such  vulgar  pettiness.  I  know  you  ;  you  are  ashamed 
at  having  left  me.  Now,  in  spite  of  your  flight,  I  will 
not  spare  you  one  word  of  certain  things  I  meant  to 
say  to  3^011  to-day  on  your  bench  beneath  my  rock. 
Head  me,  I  implore  3'ou,  with  attention,  for  the  matter 
concerns  3'ou  and  3'our  happiness  more  than  it  does 
Macumer,  —  though  he  counts  for  much  in  m}' moral. 

In  the  first  place,  my  darling,  you  do  not  love  him. 
Before  two  years  have  passed  j-ou  will  weary  of  his 
adoration.  You  will  never  see  in  Felipe  a  husband, 
only  a  lover  whom  yoxi  can  plaj^  with  heedlessly,  as  all 
women  do  with  their  lovers.  No,  he  does  not  compel 
your  respect ;  you  do  not  feel  that  profound  esteem, 


that  tenderness  mingled  with  awe,  which  a  woman  who 
loves  has  for  the  man  in  whom  she  sees  a  god.     Oh  1 


Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women.     211 

I  have  studied  love,  my  angel ;  I  have  thrown,  more 
than  once,  a  plummet  into  the  gulf  of  my  heart.  After 
examining  you  through  and  through  I  say  again  :  You 
do  not  love. 

Yes,  dear   queen   of  Paris,  like   other  queens  you 
would  like  to  be  treated  as  a  commoner  woman ;  you 


would  like  to  be  ruled,  mastered  by  some  strong  man 


who,  instead  of  adoring,  would  bruise  your  arm  in  a 
moment  of  jealousy.  Macumer  adores  you  too  much 
to  blame  you  or  oppose  you.  A  single  look  of  yours, 
a  single  coaxing  word  controls  his  will.  Sooner  or 
later,  you  will  despise  him  for  Joying_j'ou  toq^much. 
Alas  !  he  spoils  you,  just  as  I  spoilt  j^ou  at  the  convent ; 
for  you  are  one  of  the  most  fascinating  of  women,  and 
you  possess  one  of  the  most  enchanting  minds  that  soul 
can  imagine.  Above  all,  3'ou  are  true,  —  and  often  the 
world  requires,  for  our  own  happiness,  a  species  of  false- 
hood to  which  you  will  never  condescend. 

For  instance :  the  world  demands  that  a  woman  shall 
never  allow  the  power  she  exercises  over  her  husband 
to  be  seen.  Socially  speaking,  a  husband  should  no 
more  seem  the  lover  of  his  wife,  when  he  is  reall}'  so, 
than  the  wife  should  play  the  part  of  mistress  to  her 
husband.  You  both  break  this  social  law.  My  child, 
the  thin£  the  world  pardons  least  (if  I  am  to  judge  by 
what  you  have  told  me  of  it)  is  happiness ;  and  there- 
fore, it  is  best  to  hide  it.     But  this  is  a  small  matter. 


212     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women. 

There  is  between  two  lovers  an  equality  which  should 
never,  as  I  think,  appear  between  a  wife  and  her  hus- 
band, under  pain  of  a  social  overturn  which  would  lead 
to  irreparable  evils.  A  man  without  power  is  a  fearful 
thing,  but  there  is  something  worse,  —  a  man  made 
powerless.  Within  a  given  time  you  will  reduce  Ma- 
cumer  to  be  but  the  shadow  of  a  man ;  he  will  no  longer 
have  a  will;  he  will  no  longer  be  himself,  but  a  thing 
trained  to  your  use;  j-ou  will  have  so  assimilated  him,  as 


it  were,  that  instead  of  being  two  persons  in  the  house- 
hold there  will  be  but  one,  and  that  one,  consequently, 
incomplete.  You  will  suffer  from  it,  but  the  evil  will 
be  without  remedy  before  you  deign  to  open  your  eyes. 
We  may  say  and  do  what  we  like,  but  our  sex  will 
never  be  endowed  with  the  qualities  which  distinguish 
a  man;  and  these  qualities  are  all  the  more  necessary 
because  the}^  are  indispensable  to  the  Family.  At  this 
moment,  in  spite  of  his  devotion,  Macumer  has  a 
glimpse  of  these  truths ;  he  feels  himself  diminished  by 
his  love.  His  journey  to  Sardinia  shows  me  that  He 
seeks  by  a  momentary  separation  to  recover  possession 
of  himself.  You  have  not  hesitated  to  use  all  the 
power  conferred  on  you  by  love.  Your  authority  shows 
itself  in  your  gesture,  in  your  glance,  in  your  tones. 
Oh !  dearest,  you  are,  as  your  mother  told  3'ou,  a  cour- 
tesan, working  on  a  man's  love.  You  have  seen,  I 
make   no   doubt,  that  I  am  superior  to  Louis,  but  I 


Memoirs  of  Tvjo  Young  Married  JVomen.     213 

would  never  contradict  him;  I  respect  him  before  the 
public  as  the  power  in  the  family.  Hypocrisy,  you 
say.  In  the  first  place,  the  counsels  I  think  it  right  to 
give  him,  my  opinions,  my  ideas,  I  reserve  for  his  own 
ear  when  we  are  alone  together;  but  even  then,  my 
dear  love,  I  do  assure  you  I  never  show  any  sense  of 
superiority  to  him.  If  I  did  not  continue  privately,  as 
well  as  publicl}',  to  treat  him  with  the  respect  of  a  wife, 
he  would  no  longer  have  faith  in  himself. 

My  dearest,  the  perfection  of  loving-kindness  is  to 
efface  ourselves  so  thoroughly  that  those  we  benefit 
shall  not  think  themselves  inferior  to  the  one  who  bene- 
fits them;  and  this  form  of  hidden  devotion  is  full  of 


untold  pleasure.  Why !  it  has  been  my  glory  to  mis- 
lead you,  yourself,  and  to  hear  your  praises  of  Louis. 
Prosperity,  happiness,  and  hope,  have  made  him  regain 
in  two  3^ears  all  that  misfortune,  misery,  abandonment, 
and  doubt  had  made  him  lose. 

And  so  I  say  that,  according  to  my  observation,  3'ou 
love  Felipe  for  your  sake,  and  not  for  his  sake.     There 


is  great  truth  in  what  your  father  said  to  you;  the 
egotism  of  a  great  lady  is  lurking  beneath  the  spring- 
tide flowers  of  your  love.     Ah  !  my  child,  I  must  love 


you   well   to   be   wiUing   to   write   to  you   such   cruel 
truths ! 

Let  me  tell  you  (on  condition  that  you  will  not  repeat 
one  word  of  this  to  the  baron)  the  end  of  one  of  my 


214     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women. 

talks  with  him.  We  had  been  singing  your  praises 
in  every  ke}^,  —  for  he  sees  plainly  enough  that  I  love 
you  with  a  sister's  love,  —  and  I  led  him,  little  by  little, 
into  confidences. 

"  Louise,"  I  said  to  him,  '*  has  not  yet  known  the  trials 
of  life  ;  fate  has  treated  her  like  a  petted  child,  and  per- 
haps she  will  end  by  being  unhappy  if  you  do  not  make 
yourself  a  father  to  her  as  well  as  a  lover." 

"But  can  I?"  he  said. 

He  stopped  short,  hke  a  man  who  sees  a  precipice 
before  him.  That  exclamation  sufficed  to  show  me 
his  state  of  mind.  If  jou  had  not  gone  away  so  sud- 
denly he  would,  in  a  few  days'  time,  have  said  more 
to  me. 

My  angel,  when  a  man  becomes  conscious  that  he 
is  powerless,  when  he  finds  satiety  in  happiness,  when 
he  feels,  I  will  not  say  degraded,  but  without  dignity 
in  your  presence,  the  blame  his  conscience  will  put  upon 
him  will  cause  him  a  species  of  remorse,  painful  to  3'ou 
because  you  will  then  feel  yourself  guilty  of  it.  Then 
you  will  yourself  despise  the  man  you  have  not  accus- 
tomed yourself  to  respect.  Reflect  on  that.  Contempt 
in  a  woman's  heart  is  the  first  form  of  hatred.  As  3'ou 
are  noble  in  heart,  you  will  always  remember  the  sacri- 
fices Felipe  has  made  for  3'ou  ;  but  there  will  then  be  no 
more  that  he  can  make,  having,  as  it  were,  served  his 
whole  self  to  j'ou  in  this  first  love-feast;  and  sorrow 


Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women.     215 

to  the  man  and  to  the  woman  who  leave  no  longer  any- 
thing to  be  desired.     All  is  then  over. 

Oh  !  Louise,  change,  change  ;  there  is  still  time.  If 
3'ou  will  behave  with  Macumer  as  I  behave  with  Louis 
you  can  rouse  the  lion  in  that  trul}"  great  man.  Will 
you  not  feel  a  glorious  pride  in  exercising  3'our  influ- 
ence in  higher  ways  than  to  your  own  profit,  —  in  making 
a  man  of  genius  a  great  man,  just  as  I  am  making  a 
superior  man  out  of  a  commonplace  one? 

If  you  had  remained  with  us  I  should  still  have 
written  you  this  letter.  I  should  have  feared  your  petu- 
lance and  your  wit  in  a  conversation,  whereas  I  know  that 
3'ou  will  reflect  upon  the  future  as  3'ou  read  m}"  words. 
Dear  soul !  3'ou  have  all  things  to  make  3'ou  happy ; 
don't  ruin  3'our  happiness !  Go  back  in  November 
to  Paris.  The  occupations  and  distractions  of  society, 
of  which  I  was  disposed  to  complain,  are,  I  see,  diver- 
sions necessar3'  to  your  home  life,  which  is  too  inti- 
mate. A  married  woman  should  have  her  reserves,  and 
so  should  a  mother,  The  mother  of  a  family  who  does 
not  let  her  presence  be  desired  by  absenting  herself 
sometimes  from  the  household  cheapens  her  vahie.  If 
I  have  several  children,  which  I  desire  for  m3^  own 
happiness,  I  declare  to  you  that  as  soon  as  they  reach 
a  certain  age  I  shall  reserve  to  myself  some  hours  ever3' 
day  in  which  to  be  alone  ;  for  I  think  we  ought  to  be 
desired  hyQ\eY\  one,  even  our  children. 


216     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women. 

Adieu,  dear  jealous  one.  Don't  you  know  that  a 
common  woman  would  have  been  flattered  to  have 
caused  you  that  rush  of  jealousy  ?  Alas  !  I  grieve 
over  it ;  for  I  am,  and  can  only  be,  a  mother  and  a 
true  friend.  A  thousand  kisses.  Say  anything  you 
like  to  excuse  your  departure ;  if  you  are  not  sure  of 
Felipe,  I  am  sure  of  Louis. 


XXXVII. 

MADAME     DE    MACUMER    TO     MADAME     DE     l'eSTORADE. 

Genoa. 

My  dearest,  —  I  have  had  a  fancy  to  see  Italj' ,  and 
am  delighted  to  have  run  away  with  Macumer,  whose 
projects  about  Sardinia  are  postponed. 

This  glorious  land  enchants,  naj^ ,  ravishes  me.  Here 
the  churches,  and  especially  the  chapels,  have  a  daint}^, 
loving  air  which  might  make  a  Protestant  long  to  be  a 
Catholic.  Macumer  has  been  much  feted;  the -king 
congratulates  himself  on  acquiring  such  a  subject.  If 
I  desired  it  Felipe  would  be  made  Sardinian  ambas- 
sador to  France ;  we  receive  much  attention  at  court. 

If  you  write  to  me  address  3'our  letters  to  Florence. 
I  have  no  time  to  write  to  you  in  detail,  but  I  will  tell 
you  about  our  journey  when  we  meet  in  Paris.  We 
shall  stay  here  only  one  week  ;  then  we  go  to  Florence 


Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married   Women.     217 

by  Livorno,  stay  a  month  in  Tuscany  and  a  month  at 
Naples,  so  as  to  reach  Rome  in  November.  We  shall 
return  by  way  of  Venice,  spend  the  first  two  weeks  of 
December  there,  go  to  Milan  and  Turin,  and  be  back  in 
Paris  for  the  month  of  January.  It  is  like  a  wedding 
journey ;  the  novelty  of  the  scenes  renews  our  dear 
honeymoon.  Macumer  has  never  been  in  Ital}- ,  and  we 
have  made  our  entrance  by  that  glorious  road,  the 
Cornice,  which  must  have  been  constructed  by  the 
fairies. 

Adieu,  my  treasure.  Don't  be  vexed  if  I  can't  write  ;  it 
is  impossible  to  get  a  moment  to  one's  self  in  travelling. 
I  have  only  time  to  see,  feel,  and  gloat  over  my  impres- 
sions. But  as  for  telling  them !  I  shall  wait  till  they 
take  the  tints  of  memory. 


XXXVIII. 

MADAME  DE   l'esTORADE   TO   MADAME    DE   MACUMER. 

September. 
My  dear  Louise,  —  There  is  a  long  letter  waiting 
you  at  Chantepleurs,  —  a  replj'  to  the  one  you  wrote  me 
from  Marseille.  This  "wedding  journey"  which  3'ou 
tell  me  of,  so  far  from  diminishing  the  fears  I  have 
expressed  to  you  in  that  letter,  make  me  so  anxious 


218     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married   Women. 

that  I  beg  3'ou  to  write  to  the  Nivernais  and  tell  3-our 
people  to  forward  it. 

The  ministry  have  resolved,  the}^  say,  to  dissolve  the 
Chamber.  If  this  is  a  misfortune  for  the  crown,  which 
ought  to  have  employed  this  last  session  of  the  legis- 
lature in  making  laws  necessary'  to  the  consolidation  of 
its  power,  it  is  also  a  misfortune  for  us.  Louis  will  not 
be  forty  until  the  close  of  1827.  Fortunately,  my 
father  consents  to  be  made  deput}',  and  will  resign 
when  the  time  comes. 

Your  godson  has  taken  his  first  steps  without  his 
godmother ;  he  is  delightful  in  ever}'  waj',  and  is  be- 
ginning to  make  me  those  gracious  little  signs  and 
gestures  which  tell  me  he  is  no  longer  an  organism 
which  sucks,  a  little  animal,  but  a  soul ;  his  smiles  are 
full  of  thoughts.  I  have  been  so  fortunate  in  my 
nursing  that  I  can  wean  him  in  December.  One  3'ear 
suffices.  Children  who  are  suckled  too  long  become 
stupid ;  I  hold  to  all  the  old  nurses'  dictums. 

You  must  be  having  a  glorious  success  in  Italj^,  my 
beautiful  fair  one.     Tenderest  love. 


Me^noirs  of  Two  Young  Married   Women.     219 
XXXIX. 

MADAME    DE    MACDMER   TO    MADAME    DE    l'eSTORADE. 

Rome,  December. 

I  HAVE  received  your  infamous  letter,  which  my 
steward,  at  my  request,  has  forwarded  from  Chante- 
pleurs.  Oh,  Renee  !  But  I  spare  )'0u  all  that  my  in- 
dignation suggests.  I  will  tell  you  only  the  effects 
produced  b}"  your  letter. 

On  our  return  from  the  fete  given  to  us  by  the  am- 
bassador, where  I  shone  with  all  my  brilliancy,  and 
from  which  Macumer  returned  in  a  passion  of  admira- 
tion for  me  I  cannot  describe  to  you,  I  read  him  your 
horrible  letter ;  and  I  read  it  weeping,  at  the  risk  of 
looking  ugly  to  him.  My  dear  Saracen  fell  at  my  feet, 
calling  you  demented,  drivelling ;  he  took  me  to  the 
balcon}^  whence  we  could  overlook  a  part  of  Rome. 
There  his  language  was  worth}'  of  the  scene  that  lay 
before  our  eyes,  —  for  the  moonlight  was  superb.  As 
we  have  learned  Italian,  and  always  speak  it  now,  his 
love,  expressed  in  that  soft  language  so  favorable  to 
passion,  seemed  to  me  sublime.  He  told  me  that  even 
if  3'ou  spoke  the  truth  and  were  prophetic,  he  preferred 
an  hour  of  love  with  me  to  a  century  of  other  life  ;  that 
counting  life  as  he  did,  he  had  already  lived  a  thousand 


220     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women. 

years.  He  implored  me  to  be  ever  his  mistress,  and 
said  lie  wished  no  other  title  or  distinction  than  that  of 
my  lover.  He  was,  he  said,  so  proud  and  happy  in 
knowing,  day  b}-  day,  how  dear  he  is  to  me,  that  if 
God  appeared  to  him  and  bade  him  choose  between 
thirty  3'ears  of  life  according  to  your  doctrines,  with 
five  children,  and  five  years  of  life  containing  our 
precious,  absorbing,  exclusive  love,  his  choice  was 
made,  —  he  would  rather  be  loved  as  1  love  him,  and 
die. 

These  protestations,  said  in  m}"  ear,  1113'  head  on  his 
shoulder,  his  arm  round  my  waist,  were  suddenly  in- 
terrupted b}'  the  cry  of  a  bat  or  an  owl.  That  omen  of 
death  made  such  a  cruel  impression  on  me  that  Felipe 
had  to  carry  me,  half-fainting,  to  my  bed.  But  don't 
be  anxious ;  although  that  horoscope  echoed  dismally 
through  mj-  soul,  this  morning  I  am  quite  well  again. 
When  I  rose  I  threw  myself  on  my  knees  before  Felipe 
and  with  m^'  e3'es  on  his,  his  hands  in  mine,  I  said  to 
him  :  — 

"  My  angel,  I  am  but  a  child  ;  Renee  ma3'  be  right ; 
perhaps  it  is  onl3'  love  that  I  love  in  thee  ;  but  be  sure 
of  this,  that  there  is,  and  can  be,  no  other  sentiment  in 
my  heart,  and  that  I  love  thee  according  to  m3'  nature. 
If  in  any  of  my  ways,  in  the  slightest  things  of  my  life 
and  of  my  soul,  there  is  an3'thing  contrar3'  to  what  you 
wish,  or  have  hoped  for  in  me,  tell  me  so,  make  me  see 


Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women.     221 

it !  I  shall  be  glad  to  listen  to  thee,  and  guide  m}" 
conduct  b}^  the  light  in  thine  eyes.  Renee  frightens 
me,  she  loves  me  so  !  " 

Macumer  had  no  voice  with  which  to  answer  me  ; 
he  burst  into  tears.  I  thank  you,  Renee ;  I  did  not 
know  till  now  how  deeply  my  noble,  my  royal  Macumer 
loves  me.  Rome  is  the  city  for  love.  When  we  have 
a  passion  it  is  here  we  should  come ;  the  arts  and  God 
are  sharers  in  it. 

We  shall  find  the  Due  and  Duchesse  de  JSoria  in 
Venice.  If  3'ou  write,  direct  to  Paris,  for  we  leave 
Rome  in  three  days ;  the  ambassador's  fete  was  given 
as  a  farewell  to  us. 

P.  S.  Oh,  you  dear  simpleton  !  your  letter  shows  that 
3'OU  know  nothing  of  love  beyond  ideas  of  it.  Learn 
this :  love  is  a  principle,  the  effects  of  which  are  so 
dissimilar  that  no  theory  can  embrace  or  la}-  down  laws 


for  them.     This  is  meant   for   the  instruction  of  m}^ 
philosopher  in  petticoats. 

XL. 

THE  COMTESSE  DE  L'eSTORADE  TO  MADAME    DE  MACUMER. 

Jamiarj'^,  1827. 
My  father  is  elected  deputy,  my  father-in-law   is 
dead,  and  I  am  about  to  be  confined  again.     Those 


222     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married   Women, 

are  the  events  of  the  close  of  this  year  in  our  household. 
I  tell  them  to  you  at  once  to  remove  the  painful  impres- 
sion of  m^'  black  seal. 

Dearest,  your  letter  from  Rome  makes  me  tremble. 
You  are  two  children.  Felipe  is  either  a  diplomatist 
who  is  dissimulating,  or  a  man  who  loves  yon  as  he 
would  love  a  courtesan  to  whom  he  abandons  fortune 
and  all  the  higher  qualities  that  are  in  him.  You  take 
me  for  a  driveller,  so  I  shall  say  no  more,  —  except 
this :  that  in  studying  our  two  destinies  I  have  come 
to  a  harsh  conclusion :  If  you  wish  to  be  loved;  do 
not  love. 

Louis  obtained  the  cross  of  the  Legion  of  honor 
when  he  was  appointed  member  of  the  general  council. 
Now,  as  he  has  been  a  member  nearlj'  three  years,  and 
as  my  father  (whom  you  will  no  doubt  see  in  Paris 
during  the  session)  has  asked  for  the  grade  of  officer 
for  his  son-in-law,  will  you  do  me  the  kindness  to 
employ  a  little  strategy  in  the  matter  and  keep  a  moth- 
erly e^'e  upon  it?  But  be  sure  not  to  meddle  with  the 
affairs  of  m}^  very  honored  father,  the  Comte  de  Mau- 
combe,  who  wants  to  be  made  a  marquis ;  reserve  all 
your  favors  for  me.  When  Louis  is  a  deputy,  which 
will  be  next  winter,  we  shall  go  to  Paris,  and  move 
heaven  and  earth  to  obtain  for  him  some  place  in  the 
general  government.  I  mean  then  to  lay  by  our  pres- 
ent income  and  live  on  the  salary  of  the  place.     M3' 


Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married   Women.     223 

father's  opinions  are  between  the  centre  and  the^  right, 
and  he  only  wants  a  title.  As  our  family  was  famous 
as  far  back  as  King  Rene,  Charles  X.  can  hardly 
refuse  a  Maucombe.  I  am  ratlier  afraid  m^^  father 
ma.y  take  it  into  his  head  to  solicit  some  favor  for  my 
3'ounger  brother ;  but  if  the  marquisate  is  kept  dangling 
a  little  too  high  above  his  head  he  can  only  think  of 
himself. 

January  15. 

Ah !  Louise,  I  have  been  in  hell !  If  I  have  the 
courage  to  speak  to  3'ou  of  my  sufferings  it  is  because 
you  are  another  myself.  I  shall  try  to  never  again  let 
m^'  thoughts  go  back  to  those  five  dreadful  days.  The 
very  word  "convulsion"  sends  a  shudder  through  my 
being. 

Five  days !  They  were  not  da3's,  they  were  five 
centuries  of  suffering.  So  long  as  a  mother  has  not 
suffered  this  martyrdom  she  knows  nothing  of  the 
meaning  of  that  word  "suffering."  I  thought  how 
happy  you  were  to  have  no  children ;  judge  by  that 
how  beside  myself  I  was. 

The  evening  before  the  terrible  day,  the  weather, 
which  was  heavy  and  almost  hot,  seemed  to  oppress 
my  little  Armand.  He,  usually  so  gentle  and  caress- 
ing, was  cross  ;  he  cried  at  everything  ;  wanted  to  play 
and  broke  his  toys.  Perhaps  all  ailments  first  show 
themselves  in  children  by  a  change  of  temper.    After  ob- 


224     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women. 

serving  this  unusual  naughtiness  I  noticed  that  Armand 
flushed  and  then  paled,  —  symptoms  I  attributed  to 
the  cutting  of  four  large  teeth  which  were  all  coming 
through  at  the  same  time.  So  I  put  him  to  bed  near 
me,  waking  up  constantl}'  to  watch  him.  During  the 
night  he  had  some  fever  ;  but  that  did  not  make  me 
uneasy,  for  I  still  attributed  it  to  the  teeth.  Toward 
morning  he  said,  "  Mamma  !  "  asking  for  something  to 
drink,  but  in  such  a  voice,  and  with  such  a  strange, 
convulsive  gesture  that  my  blood  froze.  I  sprang  from 
the  bed  to  get  him  some  sugared  water.  Imagine  my 
horror  when,  on  giving  him  the  cup,  I  saw  he  was 
rigid  ;  he  kept  repeating  "  Mamma,"  in  that  voice  which 
was  not  his  voice  —  indeed  it  was  not  a  voice  at  all. 
I  took  his  hand,  it  made  no  motion,  it  was  stiff.  I  put 
the  cup  to  his  lips.  The  poor  little  fellow  drank  in  a 
terrifying  way,  in  convulsive  gulps,  and  the  water  made 
a  strange  noise  in  his  throat.  Then  he  clutched  des- 
perately at  me,  and  I  saw  his  eyes  turned  by  some 
inward  power,  till  the  whites  onlj^  showed.  I  uttered  a 
dreadful  cry  ;  Louis  came. 

"  A  doctor  !  a  doctor !  "  I  cried,  "  he  is  dying  !  " 
Louis  disappeared,  and  m}'  poor  Armand  said  again, 
*' Mamma!  mamma!"  and  clung  to  me.  That  was 
the  last  moment  when  he  knew  he  had  a  mother.  The 
prett}'  veins  of  his  forehead  were  now  injected,  the  con- 
vulsion began. 


Memoirs  of  Tico   Young  Married  Wornen.     225 

For  a  whole  hour  before  the  doctors  came  I  held  that 
J  child,  —  so  vigorous,  white  and  ros3%  that  flower,  my 
pride,  my  joy,  —  stiff  as  a  piece  of  wood  ;  and  what  eyes  \ 
I  shudder  as  I  recall  them.  Black,  shrunken,  shriv- 
elled, mute,  my  pretty  Armand  was  a  mummy.  A 
doctor,  two  doctors,  brought  by  Louis  from  Marseille, 
stood  planted  there  upon  their  legs,  like  two  birds  of 
ill  omen  ;  they  made  me  shudder.  One  talked  of  brain 
fever,  the  other  said  it  was  only  convulsions  common 
to  children.  The  doctor  from  our  village  seemed  to  me 
the  wisest,  because  he  prescribed  nothing.  '*  It  is 
teething,"  said  one  ;  "  It  is  fever,"  said  the  other.  At 
last  they  agreed  to  put  leeches  on  the  neck,  and  ice  to 
the  head. 

I  felt  like  dying.  To  see  that  blue-black  body,  with 
not  a  cr}',  not  a  motion,  in  place  of  a  creature  so  full 
of  life  and  noise.  There  was  a  moment  when  my  mind 
wandered,  and  I  laughed  out  loud  when  I  saw  the 
leeches  hanging  to  that  neck  I  loved  to  kiss,  and  that' 
charming  head  with  its  cap  of  ice.  Dear,  they  cut  off 
all  the  hair  you  thought  so  pretty  in  order  to  apply  the 
ice.  Every  ten  minutes  or  so  the  convulsion  returned  ; 
the  poor  child  was  twisted  into  every  shape  ;  he  was 
sometimes  pale,  sometimes  violet.  When  his  limbs, 
always  so  soft  and  flexible,  struck  together  they  gave 
a  sound  like  wood.  That  insensible  little  creature  had 
smiled  to   me,  spoken  to  me,  and  had  just  called  me 

15 


226     Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women. 

'^ Mamma!"  As  I  stood  there  helpless,  volumes  of 
anguish  crossed  m}'  soul  and  convulsed  it  as  hurricanes 
convulse  the  sea ;  I  felt  every  tie  by  which  a  child  is 
bound  to  our  hearts  shaken. 

My  mother,  who  might  have  helped,  advised,  sup- 
ported me,  was  in  Paris.  Mothers  know  more  about 
convulsions  than  doctors,  I  think.  After  four  days  and 
four  nights,  passed  in  alternations  of  hope  and  fear  that 
nearly  killed  me,  the  doctors  all  agreed  to  apply  a 
horrible  ointment  to  make  an  open  sore.  Sore  !  on  my 
Armand !  who  was  playing  and  laughing  five  days 
earlier  and  learning  to  say  "  godmother!  "  I  refused, 
and  said  it  was  best  to  trust  to  nature.  Louis  scolded 
me ;  he  believed  in  the  doctors.  A  man  is  always  a 
man.  In  these  terrible  illnesses  there  comes  a  moment 
when  death  takes  form,  and  during  that  moment  this 
remedj^  which  I  abhorred,  seemed  to  me  safety. 
Louise,  the  skin  was  so  drj',  so  rough,  so  hard  that  the 
ointment  could  not  bite  it !  Then  I  burst  into  tears, 
there  at  the  bed's  head  —  till  the  pillow  was  wet. 
The  doctors  !  they  were  at  dinner  !  Seeing  myself  alone, 
T  stripped  from  my  child  those  medical  appliances ;  I 
took  him,  half  beside  myself,  in  my  arms ;  I  pressed 
him  to  my  bosom,  I  leaned  my  forehead  on  his  forehead, 
and  T  prayed  to  God  to  give  him  my  life,  striving 
with  all  my  might  to  communicate  it  to  him  ;  I  held 
him  so  for  several  minutes,  thinking  to  die  with  him 


Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women.     Til 

rather  than  be  separated  by  life  or  death.  Dear,  I 
felt  his  limbs  relax ;  the  tension  yielded,  my  child 
moved,  the  horrible  dark  colors  disappeared.  I  cried 
out  as  I  did  the  night  he  was  taken  ill.  The  doctors 
came  up  ;  I  showed  them  Armand. 

"  He  is  saved  !  "  said  tlie  elder  of  them. 

Oh  !  what  words  !  what  music  !  the  heavens  opened. 
Two  hours  later  Armand  was  reborn.  But  I  was 
annihilated.  Without  that  balm  of  joy  nothing  could 
have  saved  me  from  an  illness.  Oh,  my  God !  by 
what  anguish  hast  thou  attached  the  child  to  the  mother. 
What  hooks  hast  thou  buried  in  our  hearts  to  which 
he  hangs  !  Was  I  not  mother  enough,  I,  who  wept  for 
jo}^  at  his  first  stammerings,  his  first  steps,  —  I,  who 
have  studied  my  child  for  hours  together,  striving  to 
know  my  dutj'  and  teach  myself  the  dear  profession  of 
a  mother?  Was  there  need  of  causing  me  this  terror; 
of  showing  these  awful  images  to  me  who  made  my 
child  an  idol? 

As  I  write  to  you,  my  Louise,  our  Armand  is  langh- 
ing  and  shouting  and  playing.  I  try  to  discover  the 
cause  of  this  horrible  child's  malady,  remembering 
always  that  I  am  now  pregnant.  Was  it  teething? 
Was  it  some  special  action  of  the  brain  ?  Have  children 
who  endure  these  convulsions  some  imperfection  in 
their  nervous  systems?  All  these  ideas  troubled  me  as 
much  for  the  present  as  for  the  future.     Our  country 


228     Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women. 

doctor  says  it  is  a  nervous  affection  caused  by  teething. 
I  'd  give  all  my  teeth  if  Arraand  could  only  have  all  his. 
When  I  see  one  of  those  white  pearls  just  piercing  his 
inflamed  gums,  a  cold  sweat  breaks  out  all  over  me. 

The  heroism  with  which  my  dear  angel  suffered  shows 
me  he  will  have  something  of  my  fortitude ;  he  gave 
me  glances  that  cleft  my  heart.  The  science  of  med- 
icine does  n't  know  much  on  the  causes  of  that  sort  of 
tetanus,  which  ends  almost  as  rapidly  as  it  begins  ;  and 
which  cannot  be  prevented  or  cured.  One  thing  is 
certain,  I  repeat  it :  to  see  her  child  in  convulsions  is 
hell  for  a  mother.  With  what  passion  I  kiss  him 
now !  How  long  I  can  hold  him  in  my  arms  and  carry 
him  ! 

To  have  this  anguish  when  I  expect  to  be  confined 
again  in  six  weeks  has  been  a  terrible  aggravation  of 
the  mart3'dom  ;  I  fear  its  effects  on  the  coming  one. 

Adieu,  my  dear  beloved  Louise  ;  don't  desire  children, 
that 's  my  last  word. 


XLL 

MADAME    DE   MACUMER   TO    MADAME    DE   l'eSTORADE. 

Paris. 
Poor  angel !  Macumer  and  I  forgave  3'ou  all  your  bad- 
nesses  on  hearing  of  your  troubles.     I  shuddered,  I  suf- 


Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women.     229 

fered  on  reading  the  details  of  this  double  torture,  and  I 
certainly  am  less  grieved  at  having  no  children.  But 
let  me  hasten  to  tell  3'ou  of  Louis's  appointment ;  he  may 
now  wear  an  officer's  rosette.  You  want  a  little  girl,  and 
probably  you  will  have  one ;  your  two  wishes  will  be 
satisfied,  oh,  you  lucky  Renee ! 

The  marriage  of  my  brother  and  Mademoiselle  de 
Mortsauf  was  celebrated  on  our  return.  Our  charming 
king,  who  is  really  delightfull}'  kind,  gave  my  brother 
the  reversion  of  the  position  of  first  gentleman  of  the 
Bed-chamber  which  his  father-in-law  now  holds.  "  The 
office  ought  to  go  with  the  title,"  the  king  said  to  the  Due 
de  Lenoncourt-Chaulieu  ;  but  he  insisted  that  the  arms 
of  Mortsauf  should  be  added  to  those  of  Lenoncourt. 

My  father  was  a  hundred-fold  right  in  all  he  preached 
to  me.  Without  my  fortune  nothing  of  all  this  could 
have  taken  place.  M}^  father  and  mother  came  from 
Madrid  to  be  present  at  the  marriage,  and  return  there 
the  day  after  the  fete  I  give_  to-morrow  to  the  bride  and 
bridegroom. 

The  carnival  will  be  very  brilliant  this  year.  The 
Due  and  Duchesse  de  vSoria  are  in  Paris.  Their  pres- 
ence makes  me  rather  uneas}-.  Marie  Heredia  is  cer- 
tainly one  of  the  most  beautiful  women  in  Europe,  and 
I  don't  like  the  way  Felipe  looks  at  her.  So  I  have 
redoubled  in  tenderness  to  him.  "  /She  would  never 
have  loved  you  thus,"  is  a  speech  I  take  care  not  to  say 


230     Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women. 

to  him  in  words ;  but  it  is  written  in  m}^  looks  and  in 
all  my  movements.  Heaven  knows  how  coquettish  and 
elegant  I  make  myself.  Yesterday  Madame  de  Mau- 
frigneuse  said  to  me  :  "  M3'  dear,  we  must  all  la}^  down 
our  arms  to  you." 

The  fact  is  I  amuse  FeHpe  so  that  he  must  think  his 
sister-in-law  as  stupid  as  a  Spanish  cow.  I  don't  so 
much  regret  not  having  a  little  Saracen  of  my  own, 
because  the  duchess  is  on  the  point  of  being  confined 
here  in  Paris,  and  it  spoils  her  beauty ;  if  she  has  a  boy 
it  is  to  be  called  Felipe  in  honor  of  the  exiled  brother. 
Malignant  fate  demands  that  I  shall  be  its  godmother. 

Adieu,  dearest.  I  shall  go  to  Chantepleurs  very 
early  this  year,  for  our  journeyings  have  cost  an 
exorbitant  sum.  I  shall  leave  here  by  the  end  of 
March,  and  live  economically  in  Nivernais.  Besides, 
Paris  bores  me.  Felipe  sighs  as  I  do  for  the  dear 
solitude  of  our  park,  our  cool  meadows,  and  the  Loire, 
spangled  with  its  sands  —  ah !  no  river  is  like  it. 
Chantepleurs  will  seem  to  me  delightful  after  the  pomps 
and  vanities  of  even  Itah' ;  for,  after  all,  such  splendors 
do  wear}"  one,  and  the  glance  of  a  lover  is  more  beautiful 
than  an}"  capo  d'opera.,  whatever  it  may  be. 

We  shall  expect  you  there,  and  I  promise  not  to  be 
jealous  of  you  again.  You  may  sound  the  heart  of  my 
Macumer  at  your  ease,  and  fish  up  all  the  interjections 
you  like,  and  lay  hold  of  all  his  scruples ;  I  give  him 


Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women.     231 

over  to  3'ou  with  superb  confidence.  Ever  since  that 
scene  in  Rome  Felipe  loves  me  more  than  ever.  He 
told  me  yesterday  (he  is  looking  over  m}'  shoulder  as 
I  write)  that  his  sister-in-law,  the  Marie  of  his  youth, 
his  betrothed  Marie,  the  Princess  Heredia,  his  earliest 
dream,  was  —  stupid!  Oh,  dearest,  I  am  worse  than 
an  opera-girl ;  that  speech  gave  me  pleasure !  I  had 
remarked  to  Fehpe  that  she  spoke  French  incorrectly ; 
she  pronounces  sain  for  cinq^  and  cheu  forje;  and 
then,  she  may  be  beautiful,  but  she  has  no  grace,  and 
not  the  slightest  vivacity  of  mind.  When  one  pays  her 
compliments  she  looks  at  you  like  a  woman  who 
is  not  accustomed  to  receive  them.  With  a  nature 
like  his,  Felipe  would  have  left  her  two  months  after 
marriage.  The  Due  de  Soria,  Don  Fernando,  is  very 
well  suited  to  her ;  he  is  generous,  but  he  is  a  spoilt 
child,  —  it  is  easy  enough  to  see  that.  There  !  I  might 
be  satirical,  and  make  you  laugh  ;  but  I  '11  saj'  no  more 
than  the  truth. 

Tender  regards,  my  darling. 

XLII. 

MADAME   DE   l'eSTORADE   TO    MADAME   DE   MACUMER. 

My  little  girl  is  two  weeks  old ;  my  mother  was 
sponsor,  together  with  an  old  grand-uncle  of  Louis's. 
We  have  called  her  Jeanne  Athenais. 


232     Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married   Women. 

As  soon  as  I  am  able  I  will  pay  you  a  visit  at  Chante- 
pleurs,  as  you  are  not  afraid  of  a  wet-nurse,  which 
is  my  present  vocation.  Your  godson  says  your  name  ; 
only  he  calls  it  Matoumer.^  for  he  cannot  pronounce  his 
c's.  You'll  dote  on  him.  He  has  cut  all  his  teeth,  and 
eats  meat  like  a  big  bo}';  and  he  runs  about  and  thrusts 
his  nose  into  everything  like  a  rat.  But  I  watch  him 
always  with  anxious  eyes ;  and  I  am  in  despair  that  I 
cannot  have  him  with  me  during  my  confinement ;  the 
doctor  insists  on  forty  days  in  my  room  for  the  sake  of 
certain  precautions.  Alas  !  my  child,  there 's  no  such 
thing  as  getting  accustomed  to  child-bearing.  The 
same  pains,  the  same  apprehensions  return. 

My  father  thought  Felipe  thinner,  and  my  dear 
darling  also.  And  yet  the  Due  and  Duchesse  de  Soria 
have  left  Paris,  and  you  have  no  longer  the  shghtest 
ground  for  jealousy.  Are  you  hiding  some  trouble  from 
me?  Your  letter  was  not  as  long  nor  as  affectionately 
thought  as  usual.  Perhaps,  however,  it  is  only  a 
caprice  of  my  dear  capricious  one. 

I  have  written  too  much ;  mj^  nurse  is  scolding  me 
for  writing  at  all,  and  Mademoiselle  Athenais  de 
I'Estorade  wants  her  dinner.  Adieu  ;  write  me  one  of 
your  good  long  letters. 


Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women.     233 


XLIII. 

MADAME    DE    MACUMER   TO    MADAME    DE    l'eSTORADE. 

For  the  first  time  in  my  life,  dear  Renee,  I  have 
wept  alone,  under  a  willow,  on  a  wooden  bench,  beside 
my  long  pond  at  Chantepleurs,  —  a  delightful  spot  and 
view  which  you  will  embellish  when  you  come,  for  the 
only  thing  wanting  is  joyous  children.  Your  fruitful- 
ness  makes  me  think  sadly  of  m3'self,  who  have  no 
children  after  near!}' three  years  of  marriage.  *'0h,'* 
I  say  in  my  heart,  ''  if  I  had  to  suffer  a  hundred-fold 
more  than  Renee  suffered  in  giving  birth  to  my  godson, 
even  if  I  had  to  see  my  child  in  convulsions,  grant,  O 
God  !  that  I  have  an  angelic  creature  like  that  little  Nais 
—  who  I  know  is  as  beautiful  as  the  da}^  though  you  did 
not  tell  me  so.  Ah !  I  recognize  mj-  Renee  there  — 
3'ou  divined  my  sufferings.  Each  time  that  my  hopes 
have  failed  me,  I  am  for  days  a  victim  to  the  blackest 
grief.  I  sing  dirges :  When  shall  I  embroider  little 
caps?  When  shall  I  choose  linen  for  my  baby's 
clothes  ?  When  shall  I  sew  the  pretty  laces  to  wrap  a 
little  head  ?  Am  I  never  to  hear  a  baby  creature  call 
me  mother,  or  feel  it  pull  my  gown  and  be  my  tyrant? 
Shall  I  see  no  traces  of  those  little  feet  upon  the  sand, 
no  broken  toys  about  the  house  ?  Am  I  never  to  buy, 
as  I  watch  many  mothers  buying,  the  coveted  things, — 


234     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women. 

the  sabres,  dolls,  the  little  tea-sets  ?  And  oh !  shall  I 
never  see  that  life,  that  angel  soul  develop  and  be  to 
me  another  Felipe,  only  more  dear?  Oh  !  I  want  a  son 
to  learn  how  to  love  a  lover  more  in  another  himself. 

Everything  about  me,  my  park,  the  chateau,  seems 
deserted  and  drear.  A  woman  without  children  is  un- 
natural ;  we  are  made  to  be  mothers.  Oh  !  philosopher 
in  petticoats  that  you  are,  you  have  seen  life  rightly. 
Barrenness  is  horrible  in  everything.  My  life  is  too 
like  the  sheepfolds  of  Gessner  and  Florian,  in  which 
Rivarol  declared  they  longed  for  wolves. 

I  long  to  devote  myself  as  you  do !  I  feel  within  me 
powers  which  Felipe  neglects ;  and  if  I  am  not  to  be  a 
mother,  fate  must  bring  me  some  misfortune  or  some 
trial.  I  have  just  been  saying  that  to  my  Spanish 
Moor,  and  the  speech  brought  the  tears  to  his  eyes ; 
however,  I  made  it  right  by  calling  him  a  sublime 
goose ;  it  won't  do  to  joke  about  his  love. 

Sometimes  I  think  I  will  make  neuvaines,  and  pray 
for  children  to  certain  madonnas,  or  go  to  certain 
baths.  Next  winter  I  will  consult  the  doctors.  I 
am  too  furious  against  myself  to  tell  you  more  just 
now.    Adieu. 


Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women.     235 


XLIV. 

SAME  TO   SAME. 

Paris,  1829. 

My  dearest  Ren^e,  —  Why  have  you  left  me  a 
whole  year  without  a  letter  ?  I  am  piqued.  Do  you  think 
that  your  Louis  (who  comes  to  see  me  every  other  day) 
can  take  your  place  ?  It  is  not  enough  for  me  to  know 
that  you  are  well,  and  that  all  your  affairs  are  satisfac- 
tory ;  I  want  3'our  feelings  and  your  ideas,  just  as  I  give 
you  mine  at  the  risk  of  being  scolded,  or  blamed,  or 
misunderstood,  for  I  love  you.  Your  silence  and  your 
burial  in  the  country,  when  you  might  be  here  enjoying 
the  parliamentary  triumphs  of  the  Comte  de  I'Estorade, 
(whose  speechifying s  and  devotion  have  given  him  a 
great  influence,  and  will  place  him  very  high  before  the 
session  is  over)  make  me  uneas}'.  Do  you  spend  your 
life  writing  him  instructions?  Numa  didn't  go  so  far 
from  his  Egeria.  Why  did  n't  you  seize  this  occasion 
to  come  to  Paris?  I  should  have  had  you  four  months. 
Louis  told  me  yesterday  that  you  were  coming  to  fetch 
him,  and  to  be  confined  for  the  third  time  in  Paris  — 
dreadful  Mother  Gigognc  that  j'ou  are ! 

After  numberless  questions  and  many  sighs  and 
plaints,  Louis,  though  now  diplomatic,  ended  by  telling 
me  that  his  great-uncle,  the  godfather  of  Athdnais,  was 


236     Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women. 

very  ill.  So  I  suppose  that  in  your  capacity  as  a  good 
mother  of  a  family  you  are  making  the  most  of  the 
glory  of  3'our  deput}^  to  obtain  a  satisfactor}'  legacy 
from  his  maternal  relative.  Well,  we  will  look  after 
your  interests  here.  Don't  be  anxious,  my  Renee  ;  the 
Lenoncourts,  the  Chaulieus,  and  the  salon  of  Madame 
de  Macumer  are  all  at  work  for  Louis.  Martignac  will 
probably  put  him  in  the  Cour  des  Comptes. 

But  if  you  don't  tell  me  what  keeps  you  in  the 
country  I  shall  be  angr}'.  Is  it  to  let  no  one  find  out 
that  3^ou  are  the  mainspring  and  policj'  of  the  house  of 
I'Estorade ;  or  can  it  be  for  the  uncle's  legacy ;  or  do 
you  fear  to  be  less  a  mother  in  Paris  ?  Oh,  how  I 
would  like  to  know  whether  it  is  that  you  don't  want 
to  be  seen  here  for  the  first  time  in  your  present  state. 
Oh,  coquette ! 

Adieu. 

XLV. 

MADAME    DE   l'eSTORADE   TO   MADAME    DE    MACUMER. 

You  complain  of  my  silence  ;  you  forget  the  two 
little  brown  heads  which  I  govern,  and  which  govern 
me.  Besides,  you  have  discovered  for  yourself  some  of 
the  reasons  that  keep  me  in  the  countr3\ 

In  addition  to  my  duty  to  our  dear  old  uncle,  I  did 
not  wish  to  drag  a  boy  of  four  and  a  little  girl  almost 


Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women.     237 

three  to  Paris,  when  I  myself  was  again  pregnant.  I 
did  not  want  to  embarrass  your  life  or  your  household 
with  such  a  party,  and  —  you  are  right  enough  —  I 
shrank  from  appearing  to  my  own  disadvantage  in  the 
briUiant  world  in  which  you  reign  ;  and  as  for  lodging- 
houses  and  hotels,  I  have  a  horror  of  them. 

Louis's  great-uncle,  on  hearing  of  his  nephew's 
appointment,  gave  me  half  his  savings,  —  two  hundred 
thousand  francs,  and  told  me  to  buy  a  house  in  Paris ; 
and  Louis  has  just  been  requested  by  him  to  look  for 
one  in  your  quarter.  My  mother  gives  me  some  thirt}^ 
thousand  francs  with  which  to  furnish  it.  So  when  I 
do  go  to  Paris  for  a  session  it  will  be  to  m}^  own  home  ; 
where  I  shall  endeavor  to  be  worthy,  in  all  sincerity  be 
it  said,  of  the  sister  of  m}-  choice. 

I  thank  you  for  having  placed  Louis  so  favorably 
with  the  court ;  but  in  spite  of  the  esteem  shown  for 
him  by  Messieurs  de  Bourmont  and  de  Polignac,  who 
want  to  have  him  in  their  ministrj-,  I  don't  want  him  to 
be  so  conspicuous ;  a  man  is  soon  compromised  in 
office.  I  prefer  the  position  in  the  Cour  des  Comptes, 
which  is  irremovable.  Our  affairs  here  are  in  very 
good  hands  ;  as  soon  as  our  bailiff  is  quite  accustomed 
to  his  work  I  shall  go  and  second  Louis ;  don't  be 
afraid. 

As  for  writing  long  letters,  how  can  I?  This  one,  in 
which  I  want  to  describe  to  you  m}'  every-day  life,  will 


238     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women. 

lie  on  my  writing-table  a  week,  I  am  very  sure.  Per- 
haps Armand  will  make  it  into  tents  for  his  army 
of  tin  soldiers  drawn  up  on  my  carpet,  or  into  ships  for 
the  fleet  that  sails  his  bath-tub. 

One  of  my  da3's  will  suffice  to  tell  you  all ;  they 
are  precisely  alike  and  are  reduced  to  two  events,  — 
the  children  are  ill,  or  the  children  are  well.  As  for 
me,  the  simple  fact  is  that  in  m}^  solitary  manor  minutes 
are  hours,  or  hours  are  minutes,  according  to  the  con- 
dition of  the  children.  If  I  have  some  delightful  hours 
it  is  after  the}^  are  in  bed,  and  I  have  finished  rocking 
one  or  telling  stories  to  the  other  to  send  them  to  sleep. 
When  I  know  they  are  safely  asleep  beside  me  I  say : 
''  There  !  I  've  nothing  more  to  fear." 

To  tell  the  truth,  my  dearest,  during  the  da3^time 
all  mothers  invent  dangers  as  soon  as  the  children 
are  out  of  sight.  There  are  razors  for  Armand  to 
play  with,  fire  to  catch  his  jacket,  a  slow-worm  to  bite 
him,  a  fall  to  bump  his  head,  and  ponds  to  tumble  into. 
So  you  see  that  maternity  is  a  series  of  poems,  sweet  or 
terrible  as  the  case  may  be.  There  's  not  an  hour  which 
does  not  have  its  joys  and  fears. 

But  at  night,  in  my  room,  comes  the  hour  of  waking 
dreams,  when  I  settle  their  destinies.  Their  lives  are 
then  lighted  by  the  smiles  of  angels  hovering  about 
their  beds.  Sometimes  Armand  calls  me  in  his  sleep ; 
I   stoop  down  to  kiss  his  forehead  or  his  sister's  feet 


Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women.     239 

and  contemplate  them  both,  l3ing  there  in  their  beauty. 
Those  are  m\"  festivals !  Last  night  our  guardian 
angel  (as  I  think)  made  me  run  from  my  bed  to  Nais's 
crib,  and  there  I  found  her  with  her  head  too  low ;  and 
Armand  in  his,  with  his  legs  uncovered  and  violet 
with  cold.  "Ah,  little  mother!  "he  said,  waking  up 
and  kissing  me.  There,  my  dear,  is  a  night  scene  for 
you. 

How  wise  it  is  for  a  mother  to  have  her  children 
always  beside  her.  Can  any  nurse,  no  matter  how  good 
she  is,  take  them  up  and  comfort  them  and  put  them 
to  sleep  again  when  waked  b}^  some  nightmare 
as  we  can  ?  For  children  do  have  bad  dreams ; 
and  to  explain  one  of  them  is  all  the  more  difficult 
because  a  child  listens  with  an  eye  that  is  sleepy  and 
scared,  intelligent  and  idiotic,  all  at  once ;  the  moment 
is  like  an  organ-rest  between  two  sleeps.  In  con- 
sequence, my  sleep  has  become  so  light  that  I  see  my 
little  ones  and  hear  them  through  the  gauze  of  my 
eyelids.  I  wake  at  a  sigh,  a  motion.  The  monster  of 
convulsions  is,  for  me,  always  crouching  beside  their 
beds. 

At  daylight  the  children's  prattle  begins  with  the 
first  chirping  of  the  birds.  Through  the  veils  of  my 
last  sleep  their  chattering  sounds  like  the  warblings 
at  dawn,  the  disputes  of  the  swallows,  —  little  joyous 
or  plaintive  cries,  which  I  hear  less  with  my  ears  than 


240     Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married   Women. 

my  heart.  While  Nais  tries  to  work  her  way  from  her 
crib  to  my  bed  by  pulling  herself  along  by  her  hands 
and  taking  tottering  steps,  Armand  has  clambered  in 
like  a  monkey  and  is  kissing  me.  Together  they  make 
my  bed  a  playground,  and  the  mother  is  at  their 
mere}'.  The  bab}"  pulls  my  hair  and  still  wants  to 
suck,  while  Armand  defends  m}'  breast  as  if  it  were 
his  possession.  I  can't  resist  some  of  their  attitudes 
and  their  pretty  laughs,  which  explode  like  rockets. 
Then  we  play  at  ogres  and  the  mother  ogress  devours 
with  kisses  the  rosy  flesh  so  soft  and  dewy,  and  the 
e3'es  so  arch  with  mischief,  and  the  pink  shoulders,  — 
which  excites  a  world  of  little  jealousies,  all  charming. 
Some  days  I  begin  to  put  on  m}'  stockings  at  eight 
o'clock,  and  they  are  not  really  on  till  nine. 

Then,  m}'  dear,  there 's  the  getting  up.  Dressing 
begins.  I  slip  on  my  wrapper,  and  turn  up  the  sleeves, 
and  put  a  waterproof  apron  in  front  of  me ;  I  bathe 
and  I  clean  my  two  little  flowers,  with  Mary's  assis- 
tance. I  alone  am  the  judge  of  the  warmth  of  the 
water,  for  the  temperature  of  a  bath  counts  for 
half  in  the  cries  and  tears  of  children.  Then  come 
fleets  of  paper  boats,  and  flocks  of  glass  ducks ;  for 
children's  minds  must  be  amused  if  3'ou  want  to  clean 
them  properly.  If  you  only  knew  how  many  pleasures 
I  have  to  invent  for  these  autocrats  in  order  to  push 
a  sponge  into   every  nook   and  corner  you   would  be 


Memoirs  of  Two   Yo2cng  Married  Women.     241 

appalled  at  the  cleverness  and  cunning  a  mother's 
trade  requires,  if  accomplished  triumphantl}'.  I  entreat 
and  scold  and  promise ;  I  am  a  humbug  of  the  first 
water,  and  all  the  more  because  my  wheedling  has  to 
be  ingeniousl3'  concealed.  No  one  knows  how  shrewd 
children  are ;  God  was  forced  to  give  the  mother  a 
little  cunning.  A  child  is  a  great  politician,  whom  we 
master  as  we  do  a  politician,  —  by  his  passions. 
Luckily,  these  angels  find  amusement  in  everything. 
A  brush  falls,  the  soap  slips ;  thereupon  gurgles  of 
laughter. 

Well,  if  the  triumphs  are  dearly  bought,  the}'  are 
triumphs.  God  alone  (for  the  father  knows  nothing 
of  all  this)  God  and  you  and  the  angels  alone  know 
what  looks  I  exchange  with  Mar}^  when,  after  dressing 
our  two  little  treasures,  we  behold  them,  both  in  perfect 
array,  amid  the  combs  and  brushes  and  sponges  and 
tubs  and  flannels  and  the  thousand  and  one  details  of  a 
nursery.  I  have  become  so  English  on  this  point  that 
I  admit  the  women  of  that  country  have  a  genius  for 
raising  children.  Tliough  thej^  consider  them  solely 
from  the  point  of  view  of  material  and  physical  well- 
being,  the}'  are  right  in  their  general  system.  My  chil- 
dren shall  always  have  their  feet  in  flannel  and  their 
legs  bare.  They  shall  not  be  swathed  and  compressed  ; 
and  never  will  I  allow  them  to  be  left  alone.  The 
imprisonment  of  French  children  in  swaddling-clothes 

16 


242     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married   Women. 

means  liberty  for  the  nurse  ;  there 's  the  secret  of  them. 
A  true  mother  is  never  at  liberty,  and  that  is  why 
I  have  not  written  to  j'ou,  —  having  on  m}^  hands 
the  management  of  this  estate,  and  two  children  to 
bring  up. 

The  science  of  motherhood  carries  with  it  many  a 
silent  merit,  ignored  by  all  and  without  parade,  —  virtue 
in  small  things,  devotion  at  all  hours.  You  don't  think 
me  a  woman  to  withhold  myself  from  a  single  care,  do 
you  ?  In  the  least  of  them  there  is  some  affection  to  be 
gleaned.  Oh  !  it  is  so  pretty  to  see  a  child's  smile  when 
he  likes  his  little  dinner.  Armand  has  a  way  of  nodding 
his  head  which  is  worth  a  whole  lifetime  of  love.  Why 
should  I  leave  to  another  woman  the  care  and  pleasure 
of  blowing  on  a  spoonful  of  soup  which  Nais  thinks  too 
hot,  she  whom  I  weaned  at  seven  months  but  who  still 
remembers  the  breast  ?  When  a  nurse  has  burned  the 
tongue  and  lips  of  a  child  with  something  hot  she  tells 
the  mother  it  is  hunger  that  makes  it  cry.  To  mince  up 
a  cutlet  for  Nais  (who  has  not  yet  got  her  last  teeth) 
and  mix  it  with  potato  is  a  work  of  patience ;  and 
really,  it  is  onl}^  a  mother  who,  in  certain  cases,  can 
make  an  impatient  child  eat  all  the  food  he  ought  to 
take  at  a  meal. 

Ah !  no,  Louise,  we  must  care  for  these  dear  innocents 
with  our  souls ;  we  must  trust  our  own  eyes  only,  our 
own  hands  only  in  dressing   them  and  feeding  them 


Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married   Women     243 

and  putting  them  to  sleep.  A  child's  cry  is  just  cause 
of  blame  to  a  mother  or  nurse,  unless  it  proceeds  from 
some  illness  ordained  b}^  nature.  Since  I  have  had  two 
(and  I  shall  soon  have  three)  to  care  for  I  have  had 
notliing  in  m}'  soul  but  my  children.  Even  you,  whom 
I  love  so  much,  have  been  a  memor}^  to  me.  I  am  not 
always  dressed  by  two  o'clock.  Therefore  I  sa}',  don't 
trust  the  motherliness  of  mothers  whose  rooms  and 
gowns  and  collars  are  in  order. 

I  must  tell  3'ou  what  happened  j^esterday.  The  day 
was  so  fine  I  wanted  to  take  my  cherubs  for  a  last  walk 
before  my  confinement,  which  is  close  at  hand.  Well, 
for  a  mother,  this  going  out  to  walk  is  a  poem,  looked 
forward  to  from  night  till  morn.  Armand  was  to  wear 
for  the  first  time  a  black  velvet  jacket,  a  new  collaret  I 
bad  embroidered  for  him,  and  a  Scotch  cap  of  the  Stuart 
tartan  with  a  cock's  feather.  Nais  was  in  pink  and  white, 
with  a  delicious  baby-cap,  —  for  she  is  still  a  baby, 
"though  she  will  soon  lose  that  pretty  name  when  the 
little  one  (whom  I  feel  kicking  me  and  whom  I  call  my 
pauper^  because  he  is  the  younger  brother)  comes  into 
the  world.  I've  seen  him  in  my  dreams,  and  I  know 
he  is  a  boy. 

Well,  caps  and  collars,  jacket  and  stockings,  daintj^ 
little  shoes,  pink  garters  for  the  legs,  and  the  muslin 
frock  embroidered  in  silk,  were  all  laid  out  upon  my 
bed.     When  these  gay  little  birds  who  agree  so  well 


244     Memoi7's  of  Two   Young  Married  Women. 

liad  been  dulj^^  brushed  and  curled  (the  hair  of  the  baby 
softly  bordering  her  pink  and  white  cap),  when  the  shoes 
were  buttoned  and  the  little  naked  legs  skipped  round 
tlie  nurser}^  when  the  two  "  clean  faces  "  as  Mary  called 
them,  and  the  sparkling  eyes  had  cried  out,  "  Come,  let 's 
go,"  I  quivered  and  palpitated.  Oh  !  to  see  that  skin  we 
have  bathed  and  sponged  ourselves,  so  fair  and  fresh 
with  its  pretty  blue  veins,  heightened  by  contrast  with 
the  velvet  or  silk,  —  why,  it  is  better  than  a  poem  ! 
With  what  passion,  never  satisfied,  do  we  call  them 
to  us  for  one  more  kiss  on  the  little  necks,  prettier  than 
those  of  the  prettiest  women  !  Those  little  scenes  the 
vulgarest  colored  pictures  of  which  all  mothers  stop 
to  look  at  in  the  shop  windows  —  I  make  them  every 
day! 

Once  out-of-doors,  I  was  proudly  enjoying  my  labors, 
admiring  mj^  little  Armand,  who  looked  like  the  son  of  a 
prince  and  was  leading  the  baby  along  that  little  road 
3X)u  remember 'near  our  house,  when  a  carriage  came 
by.  I  tried  to  draw  them  aside,  and  somehow  they  both 
tumbled  into  a  mud-puddle,  and  there  were  my  works  of 
art,  my  masterpieces,  destroyed !  I  snatched  up  the 
baby  in  m}^  arms,  not  caring  that  I  ruined  mj'  gown, 
and  Mary  laid  hands  on  Armand,  and  we  brought  them 
home.  When  a  baby  cries  and  a  child  gets  wet,  that 's 
enough  ;  a  mother  can't  think  of  herself,  she  is  otherwise 
absorbed. 


Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women.     245 

Dinner-time  comes,  and  I  have  usuall}^  done  nothing 
at  all.  How  to  serve  both,  to  put  on  their  napkins, 
turn  up  my  cuffs,  and  feed  the  two  is  a  problem  I  solve 
twice  a  day.  As  for  me,  I  am  the  one  neglected 
in  the  household ;  often,  if  the  children  have  been 
naughty,  1  am  still  in  curl-papers.  My  toilet  depends 
on  their  good  behavior.  To  have  a  moment  to  myself, 
in  order  to  write  yon  these  six  pages,  I  have  let  them 
cut  pictures  from  m^'  novels  and  build  castles  with 
my  books  and  chequers  and  mother-of-pearl  counters. 
Nais  is  at  this  moment  winding  my  wools  to  please 
herself,  in  so  intricate  a  manner  that  she  is  giving  all 
her  little  mind  to  it  and  does  n't  say  a  word. 

After  all,  I  have  nothing  to  complain  of;  my  children 
are  robust  and  free,  and  they  amuse  themselves  with 
much  less  trouble  to  me  than  you  might  think.  They 
are  pleased  with  everything.  What  they  need  is  lib- 
erty, —  properly  watched,  of  course ;  the}^  like  that 
better  than  toys.  A  few  colored  pebbles,  pink  and  yel- 
low, purple  or  black,  little  shells,  wonders  in  the  sand, 
are  their  delight.  To  possess  a  great  many  small  things 
appears  to  be  their  idea  of  wealth.  I  watch  Armand  ; 
he  talks  to  the  flowers,  the  flies,  the  hens ;  he  imitates 
them  ;  he  is  on  good  terms  with  the  insects,  which  fill 
him  with  admiration.  All  that  is  small  interests 
them.  Armand  is  beginning  to  ask  the  why  of  things. 
He  came  just  now  to  see  what  I  was  saying  to  his  god- 


246     Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women. 

mother;  he   takes   you   for   a  fair}'  —  there,  see  what 
intelligent  minds  children  have ! 

Alas !  my  angel,  I  said  I  would  not  sadden  you  again 
with  my  happiness.  One  thing  more  I  must  tell  you  to 
paint  your  godson.  The  other  day  a  poor  man  followed 
us  ;  for  the  poor  know  well  that  no  mother  accompanied 
by  her  child  ever  denies  them  alms.  Armand  does 
not  yet  know  that  anj^  one  can  want  for  bread ;  he  is 
ignorant  of  what  money  is,  but  as  he  had  wished  for 
a  trumpet  and  I  had  just  bought  him  one,  he  held  it  out 
to  the  old  man  saying :  — 
,**  Here,  take  that." 

"  Will  3'ou  permit  me  to  keep  it?  "  said  the  poor  man 
looking  at  me. 

What  is  there  on  earth  that  could  be  put  into  the 
balance  with  my  joy  at  that  inoment? 

"  You  see,  madame,  I  have  children,  too,"  said  the 
old  man,  taking  the  alms  I  gave  him,  without  even 
looking  at  them. 

When  I  reflect  that  I  must  soon  put  a  child  like 
Armand  to  school,  that  I  have  only  three  and  a  half 
years  more  to  keep  him  with  me,  I  cannot  help 
trembling.  A  public  school  will  mow  down  the  flowers 
of  this  blessed  childhood ;  it  will  denaturalize  those 
graces,  crush  that  adorable  frankness !  They  will  cut 
the  prett}'  curls  I  have  so  bathed  and  cleaned  and 
kissed.     But  what  will  they  do  with  Armand's  soul? 


Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women.     247 

Enough !  let  me  turn  to  you.  What  has  become  of 
you?  You  tell  me  nothing  of  3'our  life.  Do  you  love 
Felipe  as  before?  As  for  the  Saracen  himself,  I  am 
not  uneasy  about  his  love.  Adieu ;  Nais  has  just 
tumbled  down  ;  if  I  wished  to  continue  that  drama  this 
letter  would  be  a  volume. 


XLVI. 

MADAME    DE    MACUMER  TO   MADAME    DE   L*ESTORADE. 

Chantepleurs,  1829 
The  newspapers  will  have  told  you,  my  good  and  tender 
Renee,  of  the  terrible  misfortune  which  has  befallen  me. 
I  could  not  write  to  you.  I  remained  at  his  bedside 
for  twent}^  nights  and  days  ;  I  closed  his  ej'es  ;  I  watched 
his  body  with  the  priests ;  I  said  the  prayers  for  the 
dead.  I  inflicted  upon  myself  the  chastisement  of  these 
awful  sufferings ;  and  3'et,  when  I  saw  upon  those  lips 
serene  the  smile  he  gave  me  just  before  he  died  I 
could  not  believe  that  my  love  had  killed  him.  But  he 
is  not,  and  I,  I  am  I  To  you  who  knew  us  both  what 
can  I  tell  yon  more?    All  is  in  those  two  sentences. 

Oh !  if  any  one  would  tell  me  he  could  be  recalled 
to  life,  I  would  give  my  hopes  of  heaven  to  hear  the 
words  —  for  I  should  see  him !     To   clasp  him   once 


248     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women. 

would  let  me  breathe,  if  only  for  a  single  instant,  with- 
out this  dagger  in  m}^  heart. 

Will  3'ou  not  come  and  tell  me  that?  Do  you  not 
love  me  enough  to  deceive  me?  But,  no,  no!  you 
told  me  beforehand  that  I  was  cruelly  injuring  him. 
Was  it  true ?  Yes,  I  did  not  deserve  his  love ;  30U 
were  right ;  I  stole  it.  Happiness  !  I  choked  it  in  my 
mad  embrace.  Oh  !  writing  to  you  now,  I  am  not  mad, 
but  I  feel  myself  alone.  O  God,  what  is  there  in  thy 
hell  be3'ond  that  word? 

When  thej'  took  him  from  me  I  laid  m3'self  down  in 
his  bed,  hoping  to  die  there  ;  for  there  was  but  a  door 
between  us,  and  I  thought  I  had  power  to  open  it. 
But  alas !  I  was  too  3'oung ;  and  after  an  illness  of 
forty  da3's,  during  which  the3"  fed  me  with  those  fright- 
ful appliances  of  a  drear3^  science,  I  was  brought  to 
Chantepleurs,  where  I  now  am,  sitting  at  m3^  window, 
among  the  flowers  he  planted  for  me,  before  that 
glorious  view  on  which  his  eyes  so  often  wandered 
rejoicing  in  the  thought  that  he  had  discovered  it  — 
because  it  pleased  me  !  Ah,  dearest,  the  pain  of  chang- 
ing one's  abode  when  the  heart  is  dead  is  dreadful. 
The  damp  soil  of  m3^  garden  makes  me  shudder ;  the 
earth  is  like  a  vast  grave,  and  I  fancy  I  am  walking 
over  him.  When  I  first  went  out  I  was  afraid  of  it,  and 
stood  motionless.  Oh,  it  is  so  drear3'  to  see  his  flowers 
without  him. 


Memoirs  of  Two  You7ig  Married  Women.     249 

My  mother  and  father  are  both  in  Spain ;  3'ou  know 
what  my  brothers  are  ;  and  you  yourself  are  obliged  to 
staj^  at  La  Crampade ;  but  do  not  be  uneasy,  two 
angels  have  come  to  me.  The  Due  and  Duchesse  de 
Soria,  those  dear  beings,  came  instantly  to  their 
brother.  During  the  last  nights  our  three  griefs  were 
calm  and  silent  around  the  bed  where  one  of  those  rare 
men  who  are  truly  noble,  truly  grand,  and  superior  to 
us  in  all  things,  la}^  dying.  His  patience  was  divine. 
The  sight  of  his  brother  and  Marie  revived  his  soul  for 
a  moment  and  calmed  his  sufferings. 

'*  Dear,"  he  said  to  me,  with  that  simplicity  he 
showed  in  all  things,  "I  was  about  to  die  forgetting 
to  give  P'ernando  the  barony  of  Macumer.  I  must 
make  another  will.  M3'  brother  will  forgive  this  want 
of  thought,  for  he  knows  what  it  is  to  love." 

I  owe  my  life  to  the  care  of  my  brother-in-law  and 
his  wife ;  they  want  to  take  me  back  with  them  to 
Spain. 

Ah !  Renee,  to  you  alone  can  I  tell  the  whole  truth 
of  this  disaster.  The  sense  of  my  wrong-doing  crushes 
me;  it  is  a  bitter  consolation  to  confess  it  to  you, — 
poor,  unheeded  Cassandra !  I  killed  hhn  by  my  exac- 
tions, my  groundless  jealousies,  my  perpetual  contro- 
versies. My  love  was  the  more  terrible  in  its  effects 
because  we  both  had  the  same  extreme  sensitiveness  ; 
we  spoke  the  same  soul  language ;  he   felt  everything 


250     Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women. 

intensely,  and  often  my  jesting,  unawares  to  me,  cut 
him  to  the  heart.  You  cannot  imagine  to  what  lengths 
that  dear  slave  carried  his  obedience.  Sometimes  I 
would  tell  him  to  go  away  and  leave  me  alone,  and  he 
would  go  without  discussing  a  caprice  from  which, 
perhaps,  he  suffered.  To  his  last  breath  he  blessed 
me ;  repeating  that  a  single  morning  alone  with  me  was 
more  to  him  than  a  long  life  with  any  other  beloved 
woman,  were  it  even  Marie  Heredia.  I  weep  as  I  write 
these  words. 

I  rise  at  mid-da}^  I  go  to  bed  at  seven  in  the  evening, 
I  spend  an  unconscionable  time  at  my  meals,  I  walk 
slowly,  I  stop  an  hour  before  some  plant,  I  gaze  at  the 
foliage,  I  bus}'  myself  deliberately  and  gravety  about 
trifles,  I  love  shade  and  silence  and  the  darkness,  I 
struggle  through  the  hours  and  add  them  one  hy  one 
with  gloomy  pleasure  to  the  past.  The  quiet  of  my 
park  is  the  only  companionship  I  wish  for;  there  I  find 
the  glorious  images  of  my  buried  happiness,  invisible 
to  others,  living  and  eloquent  to  me. 

My  sister-in-law  flung  herself  into  my  arms  when  I 
said  to  her  one  morning :  — 

"  I  cannot  endure  your  presence  any  longer !  Span- 
iards have  something  grander  than  we  have  in  their 
souls  !  " 

Ah !  Renee,  if  I  am  not  dead  it  is  that  God  no 
doubt  apportions  our  sense  of  misery  to  our  strength. 


Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women.     251 

None  but  women  know  the  extent  of  our  loss  when  we 
lose  a  love  without  one  taint  of  h3'pocrisy,  the  love  of 
our  choice,  a  lasting  passion  whose  pleasures  satisfied 
both  soul  and  nature.  How  often  is  it-  granted  to 
women  to  meet  a  man  with  such  high  qualities  that 
they  can  love  him  and  not  degrade  themselves?  To 
meet  him  is  the  greatest  joy  that  can  come  to  women ; 
it  can  come  to  them  only  once.  Men  truly  great  and 
strong,  you  in  whom  virtue  hides  beneath  poesj",  you 
whose  souls  possess  a  lofty  charm,  men  made  to  be 
adored,  keep  yourselves  from  loving,  or  you  will 
cause  the  miser}^  of  a  woman  and  3^our  own  ! 

That  is  what  I  cry  aloud  in  my  wood-paths.  And 
no  child  by  him  !  That  unquenchable  love  that  smiled 
upon  me  ever,  a  love  that  showered  only  flowers  and 
bliss  upon  me,  that  love  to  be  barren!  I  am  an  ac- 
cursed creature.  Must  love,  pure  and  violent  as  it  is 
when  absolute,  be  as  unfruitful  as  aversion,  — just  as  the 
Tieated  sands  of  the  desert  and  the  frozen  region  of  the 
pole  produce  no  life  ?  Must  one  marr}^  a  de  I'Estorade 
to  have  a  family  ?  Is  Gqddispleased  with  love  ?  Oh ! 
what  am  I  saying? 

You  are  the  onlj^  being  I  can  endure  beside  me. 
Come  to  me ;  you  alone  should  be  with  3^our  Louise  in 
mourning.  What  a  horrible  day  that  was  when  I  put 
a  widow's  cap  upon  my  head  !  When  I  saw  myself  in 
black,  the  emblem  of  my  life,  I  fell  upon  a  seat  and 


252     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women. 

wept  till   night.    I   weep   still   as   I   tell  j'ou  of  that 
moment. 

Adieu ;  writing  fatigues  me.  I  am  weary  of  m}^ 
thoughts ;  I  cannot  any  longer  express  them.  Bring 
your  children  ;  30U  can  nurse  the  last  one  here.  There 
is  no  jealousy  now ;  he  is  gone,  and  my  godson  will  be 
a  pleasure  to  me;  Felipe  longed  for  a  child  which 
should  be  like  our  little  Armand.  Yes,  Renee,  come 
and  take  your  share  in  my  grief. 


XLVII. 

MADAME    DE   l'eSTORADE   TO   MADAME    DE    MACUMER. 

1829. 

Dearest,  when  3'ou  hold  this  letter  in  your  hand  I 
shall  not  be  far  off,  for  I  start  almost  directly  after  dis- 
patching it.  We  shall  be  alone.  Louis  is  obliged  to 
remain  in  Provence  on  account  of  the  elections  which 
are  about  to  take  place  ;  he  wants  to  be  re-elected,  and 
schemes  are  already  laid  against  him  by  the  liberals. 

I  do  not  come  to  console  you  ;  I  bring  only  my  heart 
to  bear  company  with  yours  and  help  you,  if  I  can,  to 
live.  I  come  to  bid  you  weep ;  thus  you  will  buy  the 
happiness  of  rejoining  him  ;  he  is  only  gone  to  God,  and 
every  step  you  take  will  lead  you  to  him ;  each  duty 


Memoirs  of  Tvjo  Young  Married  Women.     253 

done  shortens  by  one  link  the  chain  that  parts  3'ou. 
Ah  !  m}'  Louise,  you  will  j-et  arise  and  go  to  him,  pure 
and  noble,  —  forgiven  for  your  involuntary  faults,  and 
followed  b^'  the  works  that  you  will  do  in  his  name  here 
below. 

I  write  these  lines  in  haste  in  the  midst  of  prepara- 
tions ;  Armand  is  crying  out :  "  Godmother  !  godmother  ! 
we  are  going  to  see  her !  "  He  makes  me  jealous  ;  he 
is  lialf  your  son. 


Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women.     255 


SECOND    PART. 
XL  VIII. 

MADAME    DE  MACUMER    TO    MADAME    DE    l'eSTORADE. 

October  15,  1833. 

Well,  yes,  Renee,  they  have  told  you  the  truth,  or 
partly  the  truth.  I  have  sold  my  house  ia  Paris,  I  have 
sold  Chantepleurs  and  the  farms  in  the  Seine-et-Marne  ; 
but  I  am  not  crazy,  and  not  ruined  ;  as  I  will  show  you 
in  figures. 

After  that  fatal  blow  which  broke  the  mainspring  of 
my  life,  I  possessed  the  fortune  of  my  poor  Macumer,  — 
some  twelve  hundred  thousand  francs.  I  shall  now 
render  you,  as  a  trusted  sister,  a  faithful  account  of 
it.  I  put  a  million  into  the  Three-per-cents  when  they 
were  at  fifty,  and  I  thus  gained  an  income  of  sixty 
thousand  francs  instead  of  thirty  thousand,  which  was 
all  I  could  get  from  landed  property.  To  spend  six 
months  of  the  year  in  the  country,  looking  after  leases, 
listening  to  the  complaints  of  farmers  (who  will  pay 
their  rents  only  when  they  choose)  ;  to  be  bored  to  death, 
like  a  sportsman,  on  rainy  days ;  to  have  crops  to  sell 


256     Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women. 

and  let  them  go  at  a  loss ;  to  live  in  Paris  in  a  house 
that  represents  ten  thousand  francs  a  year ;  to  keep  my 
funds  with  a  notary,  and  worry  about  interest ;  to  sue 
people  who  don't  pay,  and  study  the  law  of  mortgages, 
—  in  short,  to  have  business  matters  in  Nivernais, 
Seine-et-Marne,  and  Paris,  —  what  a  burden,  what  a 
bore,  and  above  all,  what  mistakes  and  losses  would 
result  for  a  widow  only  twenty-seven  years  old ! 

Now  my  fortune  is  secured  on  the  budget.  Instead 
of  paying  taxes  to  the  State,  I  receive  from  it,  without 
costs,  thirt}'  thousand  francs  ever}^  six  months,  paid  at 
the  Treasury  by  a  smiling  little  clerk,  who  gives  me 
thirty  bank-notes  of  a  thousand  francs  each.  "  Suppose 
France  becomes  bankrupt?"  I  hear  3'ou  sa3^  In  the 
first  place,  I  never  take  woes  ahead.  But  even  so, 
France  could  only  cut  off  half  my  income  ;  I  should  be 
as  well-off  as  I  was  before  I  made  the  investment. 
Such  catastrophes  happen  only  once  in  a  century,  and 
that  leaves  me  plenty  of  time  to  make  another  fortune 
by  economy.  Besides,  is  n't  the  Comte  de  I'Estorade  a 
peer  of  the  semi-republican  France  of  July?  Is  n't  he 
one  of  the  supporters  of  the  crown  offered  by  the  people 
to  the  King  of  the  French?  Need  I  be  anxious  when  I 
have  for  m}^  friend  a  president  of  the  Cour  des  Comptes  ? 

Who  dares  say  now  that  I  am  crazy  ?  I  can  calculate 
almost  as  well  as  your  citizen-king.  But  do  you  know 
what  gives  algebraic  wisdom  to  a  woman  ?  —  Love. 


Memoirs  of  Tvjo  Young  Married  Women.     257 

Alas !  the  moment  has  come  when  I  must  explain  to 
3'ou  the  mj'steries  of  my  conduct,  the  motives  of  which 
have  eluded  your  perspicacit3%  3'our  inquisitive  affec- 
tion, and  your  cleverness.  I  am  about  to  be  married, 
privatel3^,  in  a  village  near  Paris.  I  love,  and  I  am 
loved.  I  love  as  much  as  a  woman  who  knows  what 
love  is  can  love.  I  am  loved  as  much  as  a  man 
should  love  the  woman  who  adores  him. 

Forgive  me,  Renee,  for  concealing  the  truth  from  you 
as  well  as  from  all  the  world.  If  3'our  Louise  has  de- 
ceived all  e^'es  and  misled  all  inquiry,  j^ou,  at  least, 
will  admit  that  my  passion  for  my  poor  Macumer 
demanded  that  secrec}'.  Besides,  you  and  I'Estorade 
would  have  harassed  me  with  doubts,  bewildered  me 
with  remonstrances.  Even  circumstances  might  have 
helped  you.  You  alone  know  the  point  to  which  I  can 
be  jealous,  and  you  might  have  uselessly  tortured  me. 

What  3'ou  will  now  call  m3"  foll3',  Renee,  I  was 
determined  to  do  alone,  out  of  m3^  own  head,  my  own 
heart,  like  a  3'oung  girl  who  escapes  the  watchfulness 
of  her  parents.  Mv  lover's  fortune  is  thirt3'  thousand 
francs'  worth  of  debts,  which  I  have  paid.  What  a 
topic  for  3'our  remarks!  You  would  have  proved  to 
me  that  Gaston  was  a  sharper,  and  3'our  husband 
would  have  spied  upon  him.  I  preferred  to  do  the 
spying   myself. 

It  is  now  twent3'-two  months  since  he  first  courted 
17 


258     Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women. 

me.  I  am  twenty-seven,  he  is  twent}'- three.  Between 
a  woman  who  is  the  elder  and  a  man,  this  differ- 
ence is  enormous.  Another  cause,  3^ou  would  say, 
of  unhappiness !  Also  he  is  a  poet,  and  lives  by  his 
work,  — which  is  as  good  as  telling  you  he  lives  on  next 
to  nothing.  This  dear  lizard  of  a  poet  is  oftener  in  the 
sun,  building  his  castles  in  the  air,  than  in  his  under- 
ground lair  writing  poems.  Writers,  artists,  all  those 
who  exist  by  thought  only,  are  usually  taxed  with 
inconstancy  b}^  practical  persons.  They  espouse  and 
conceive  so  many  fancies  that  it  is  natural  to  suppose 
that  their  heads  react  upon  their  hearts. 

But,  in  spite  of  the  paid  debts,  in  spite  of  the  differ- 
ence of  age,  in  spite  of  the  poesy,  after  nine  months  of 
a  gallant  struggle,  and  without  so  much  as  having  let 
him  kiss  my  hand  —  after  the  purest  and  most  delicious 
courtship,  I  give  myself;  I  do  not  yield  myself  pas- 
sively as  I  did  eight  years  ago,  ignorant  and  inexpe- 
rienced ;  I  give  myself,  and  the  gift  is  accepted  with 
such  submission  that  I  might  even  delay  another  year 
before  the  marriage  takes  place.  But  there  is  not 
the  least  servility  in  this ;  there  is  deference  in  it,  but 
not  submission.  Never  did  I  meet  a  nobler  heart,  nor 
more  of  strength  in  tenderness,  nor  more  of  soul  in 
love  than  in  my  beloved.  Alas  !  my  Renee,  it  comes 
to  him  by  nature.  Let  me  tell  you  his  history  in 
two  words. 


Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women.     259 

My  lover  has  no  other  name  than  that  of  Marie 
Gaston.  He  is  the  natural  son  of  that  beautiful  Lady 
Brandon,  of  whom  you  must  have  heard,  who  died  near 
Tours,  at  La  Grenadiere,  killed  by  grief  caused  by  the 
vengeance  of  Lady  Dudley,  —  a  horrible  history,  of  which 
her  son  knows  nothing.  Marie  Gaston  was  placed  by 
his  brother  Louis  Gaston  at  school  in  Tours,  where  he 
stayed  till  1827.  Soon  after  placing  him  there  his 
brother  went  to  sea  to  seek  his  fortune ;  so  an  old 
woman  who  has  been  Marie's  Providence  assured  him. 
Louis,  then  in  the  navy,  wrote  to  him  from  different 
ports  letters  that  were  truly  fatherly",  —  the  letters  of  a 
noble  soul ;  but  he  never  returned  to  France.  In  his 
last  letter  he  told  Marie  Gaston  of  his  promotion  to  the 
rank  of  post-captain  in  some  American  republic,  I  don't 
remember  which,  and  exhorted  him  to  hope.  Alas  !  for 
three  years  my  poor  poet  has  received  no  further  letter, 
and  he  loves  his  brother  so  much  that  he  wanted  at  first 
to  go  in  search  of  him.  But  our  great  writer,  Daniel 
d'Arthez,  has  prevented  such  folly,  and  has  interested 
himself  deepl}'  in  Marie  Gaston,  to  whom  he  has  often 
given,  as  my  poet  says  in  his  picturesque  language, 
"  the  bite  and  sup." 

Judge,  now,  of  the  lad's  distress ;  he  imagined  that 
genius  was  the  surest  and  most  rapid  means  of  fortune  ! 
That  will  surely  make  j'ou  laugh  for  twenty-four  hours. 
From  1828  to  1833  he  has  been  trying  to  win  for  himself 


260     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women. 

a  name  in  letters,  and  he  has  consequent!}"  led  a  most 
frightful  life  of  anguish,  hope,  toil,  and  starvation. 
Led  on  by  his  extreme  ambition,  against  the  wiser 
counsels  of  his  friend  d'Arthez,  he  only  managed  to  roll 
up  the  snowball  of  his  debts.  His  name  was  beginning 
to  be  known  when  I  chanced  to  meet  him  at  Madame 
d'Espard's.  There,  without  a  thought  of  such  a  thing 
entering  his  mind,  I  felt  drawn  to  love  him,  sympa- 
thetically, at  first  sight.  Why  has  no  one  loved  him 
already?  Why  is  he  left  for  me ?  I  asked  myself.  Oh,  he 
has  genius  and  intellect,  heart  and  pride,  —  it  must  be 
that  women  are  afraid  of  greatness  so  complete  !  Did 
it  not  take  a  hundred  victories  to  show  Josephine  a 
Napoleon  in  the  little  Bonaparte,  her  husband? 

His  innocent  heart  thinks  it  knows  how  much  I  love 
him  !  Poor  Gaston  !  he  has  no  conception  of  it.  But 
to  you  I  will  tell  it ;  you  ought  to  know  it,  for,  Renee, 
this  letter  is,  as  it  were,  my  will  and  testament. 
Meditate  on  what  I  say. 

At  this  moment  I  have  the  certainty  of  being  loved 
as  much  as  a  woman  can  be  loved  upon  this  earth ; 
and  I  have  faith  in  this  conjugal  life  to  which  I  bring 
a  love  I  never  felt  before.  Yes,  I  know  at  last  the 
pleasure  of  returning  a  passion.  What  all  women  ask 
of  love,  marriage  will  give  me.  I  feel  for  Gaston  the 
passion  I  inspired  in  my  poor  Felipe.  I  am  no  longer 
mistress  of  myself;  I  tremble  before  that  child  as  Felipe 


Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married   Women.     261 

trembled  before  me.  In  short,  I  love  more  than  I  am 
loved  ;  I  am  afraid  of  everything ;  my  fears  are  ridicu- 
lous ;  I  fear  to  be  deserted ;  I  tremble  lest  I  be  old 
and  ugly  while  Gaston  is  still  young  and  handsome ; 
I  tremble  at  the  thought  that  I  maj'  not  please  him 
always.  And  yet  I  think  I  possess  the  faculties,  the 
devotion,  the  sense  necessary,  not  to  preserve  only,  but 
also  to  nurture  and  increase  his  love,  if  far  from  the 
world,  in  solitude.     That  is  my  dream. 

If  I  fail,  if  the  magnificent  poem  of  this  secret  love 
should  have  an  end  —  what  am  I  saying,  an  end!  —  na}', 
if  Gaston  loves  me  one  day  less  than  the  day  before,  and 
I  perceive  it,  Renee,  remember,  I  shall  blame  myself, 
not  him.  It  will  not  be  his  fault ;  it  will  be  mine.  I 
know  myself.  I  am  more  of  a  loving  woman  than  a 
mother ;  and  I  tell  3'ou  in  advance  that  if  this  happened 
to  me  I  should  die,  even  though  I  might  have  children. 
And  before  I  enter  into  these  new  bonds,  my  Renee,  I 
implore  you,  should  any  evil  come  to  me,  to  be  a  mother 
to  my  children  ;  I  here  bequeath  them  to  you.  The 
knowledge  of  your  fanaticism  for  duty,  your  precious 
qualities,  your  love  for  children,  3'our  love  for  me,  — 
all  that  I  know  of  3'ou  will  render  death  less  bitter ;  I 
dare  not  say  more  sweet. 

This  fixed  idea  within  my  mind  adds  a  nameless 
terror  to  the  ceremony  of  this  marriage  ;  that  is  wh}^  I 
cannot  have  those  who  know  me  witness  it ;   it  will  be 


262     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women. 

solemnized  in  secret.  I  can  tremble  more  at  ease  if 
I  do  not  see  in  3'our  dear  eyes  a  disquietude  I  cannot 
bear.  I  alone  shall  feel,  as  I  sign  this  second  register  of 
marriage,  that  I  may  have  signed  mj^  death-warrant. 

I  shall  never  speak  again  of  the  pact  now  made 
between  myself  and  the  self  I  am  going  to  become.  I 
confide  it  to  you  here,  that  3'ou  may  know,  if  evil 
happens  to  me,  the  extent  of  the  dut}"  I  laj'  upon  you. 

I  marry  free,  absolutely  independent  as  to  propertj^ 
and  knowing  that  I  am  rich  enough  for  us  both  to  live 
at  our  ease,  I  can  dispose  of  my  fortune  in  what 
manner  I  choose.  As  I  do  not  wish  to  humiliate  either 
of  us,  I  have  placed  twelve  thousand  francs  a  year  in 
Gaston's  name ;  he  will  find  the  first  3'ear's  income  in 
his  desk  the  evening  before  our  marriage,  and  if  he 
does  not  accept  them  I  will  suspend  everything.  I  was 
obliged  to  threaten  not  to  marry  him  to  obtain  the  right 
to  pay  his  debts. 

Ah  !  Renee,  I  am  weary  with  writing  to  3'Ou  all  these 
confessions.  Daj'  after  to-morrow  I  will  tell  you  more  ; 
but  to-morrow  I  am  obliged  to  go  into  the  country  for 
the  whole  day. 

October  20th. 

I  have  taken  measures  to  hide  my  happiness,  for  I 
desire  to  evade  all  occasions  for  m}^  fatal  jealousy.  I 
am  like  that  beautiful  Italian  princess  who  rushed  to 
Switzerland  to  devour  her  prey  after  springing  upon  it 


Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women.     263 

like  a  lioness.  So,  though  I  am  now  going  to  tell  you 
of  all  mj'  arrangements,  I  beg  of  you  not  to  come  and 
see  us  unless  I  ask  3  ou  to  do  so  ;  and  to  respect  the 
seclusion  in  which  I  wish  to  live. 

About  two  years  ago  I  bought  some  twenty  acres 
of  meadow  land,  with  a  fringe  of  woods  and  a  fine 
fruit-garden,  above  the  ponds  of  Ville  d'Avray,  on  the 
road  to  Versailles.  At  the  lower  end  of  the  meadows 
the  ground  has  been  excavated  so  as  to  form  a  pond 
about  three  acres  in  extent,  in  the  middle  of  which  is 
an  island  gracefully  outlined.  Two  pretty  wooded  hills 
close  in  this  valley  and  send  delicious  little  brooks  to 
filter  through  m}^  park,  where  they  have  been  judi- 
ciousl}^  distributed  by  my  architect.  These  waters 
fall  into  the  ponds  on  the  crown  lands  which  can  be 
seen  through  an  opening  in  the  trees.  The  park,  ad- 
mirabl}"  laid  out  by  the  same  architect,  is,  according 
to  the  nature  of  the  land,  enclosed  by  hedges,  walls, 
and  sunken  fences,  so  that  no  point  of  view  is  lost. 
Half  way  up  the  slope,  at  a  spot  flanked  by  the  woods 
of  La  Ronce,  with  a  delightful  prospect,  facing  a 
meadow  running  down  to  the  pond,  I  have  built  a 
chalet,  the  exterior  of  which  exactly  reproduces  that  on 
the  road  from  Sion  to  Brieg  which  so  delighted  me  on 
our  wa}^  back  from  Italy.  Within,  its  elegance  sur- 
passes that  of  all  the  famous  chalets. 

About  a  hundred  yards  from  this  rustic  dwelling  is 


264     Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women. 

a  charming  construction  which  groups  together  the 
kitchen,  oflSces,  stables,  and  coach-houses,  and  commu- 
nicates with  the  Chalet  hy  an  underground  way.  Of  all 
these  various  buildings,  made  of  brick,  the  eye  sees 
only  a  facade  of  graceful  simplicity,  surrounded  by 
shrubs  and  trees.  The  gardener's  house  is  another 
ornamental  building,  which  masks  the  entrance  to  the 
orchard  and  kitchen-gardens. 

The  entrance  gate  to  this  property,  in  the  wall  on 
the  woodland  side,  is  almost  undiscoverable.  The 
plantations,  already  of  some  height,  will  completely 
hide  the  buildings  in  a  few  year^ ;  my  idea  of  retire- 
ment will  be  completely  carried  out ;  passers  along  the 
roads  will  know  of  our  abode  only  by  the  smoke  rising 
above  the  trees  in  summer,  or  in  winter  when  the 
leaves  have  fallen. 

The  Chalet  stands  in  the  midst  of  grounds  designed 
after  those  they  call  the  ' '  King's  Garden  "  at  Versailles  ; 
but  it  has,  in  addition,  a  view  of  my  pond  and  island. 
On  all  sides  tlie  hill-slopes  show  their  foliage,  the  foli- 
age of  the  fine  trees  now  so  cared  for  by  the  new  Civil 
list.  My  gardeners  have  orders  to  cultivate  only  the 
sweetest-smelling  flowers,  and  those  by  thousands ;  so 
that  this  little  corner  of  the  earth  will  be  a  perfumed 
emerald.  The  Chalet,  adorned  with  a  wild  grape-vine 
which  clambers  over  the  roof,  is  literally  swathed  in 
climbing  plants,  clematis,  jasmine,  hop,  and  cobea.    He 


Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women.     265 

who  can  distinguish  our  windows  amid  their  luxuriance 
may  boast  of  having  seen  a  rare  sight ! 

This  chalet,  my  dear,  is  a  good  and  fine  house,  with 
its  caloHferes  and  all  the  improvements  introduced  by 
modern  architecture,  —  which  nowadays  builds  palaces 
on  a  hundred  square  feet  of  ground.  It  contains  a 
suite  of  rooms  for  Gaston  and  a  suite  of  rooms  for  me. 
The  ground-floor  is  occupied  by  an  antechamber,  a  par- 
lor, and  a  dining-room.  Above  us  are  three  rooms 
destined  for  the  nursery.  I  have  five  superb  horses,  a 
little  coupe,  very  light,  and  a  milord  for  two  horses. 
We  are  less  than  forty  minutes  from  Paris ;  and  if  we 
want  to  hear  an  opera,  or  see  a  new  piece  at  the 
theatres,  we  have  only  to  drive  in  after  dinner  and 
return  to  our  nest  at  night.  The  road  is  fine  and  runs 
under  the  shadow  of  our  own  woods  for  some  distance. 

My  servants,  the  cook,  coachman,  groom,  gardeners, 
and  the  lady's-maid  are  all  worthy  persons,  who  will  be 
under  the  direction  of  my  good  old  Philippe.  Though 
I  think  I  may  be  sure  of  their  discretion,  I  hold  them 
partly  by  their  interests ;  their  wages  ai'e  small,  with 
the  promise  of  an  increase  each  j^ear  by  a  new-year's 
gift.  They  all  know  that  the  slightest  fault,  or  the 
mere  suspicion  of  their  being  indiscreet,  would  cause 
them  to  lose  immense  advantages.  Loving  persons 
never  worry  their  servants,  — they  are  indulgent ;  and 
so  I  think  I  may  rely  on  my  people. 


266     Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women. 

All  that  was  precious,  and  beautiful,  and  elegant  in 
ni}'  house  in  the  rue  du  Bac,  is  now  in  the  Chalet.  The 
Rembrandt  (which  is  neither  more  nor  less  than  a  daub) 
is  on  the  staircase ;  the  Hobbema  is  in  his  study,  oppo- 
site to  the  Rubens ;  the  Titian  which  my  sister-in-law 
sent  me  from  Madrid,  adorns  the  boudoir ;  those  beau- 
tiful pieces  of  furniture  Felipe  found  look  well  in  the 
parlor,  which  the  architect  has  decorated  exquisitely. 
Everything  about  the  Chalet  is  charming,  —  simple  with 
the  simplicity  that  costs  a  fortune.  The  ground-floor, 
being  built  over  a  cellar  with  stone  foundation-walls 
laid  in  cement,  and  scarcely  visible  behind  the  plants 
and  shrubs,  is  delightfully  cool  but  never  damp.  A 
flock  of  white  swans  are  floating  on  the  pond  at  the 
foot  of  the  lawn. 

Oh,  Renee !  a  silence  to  rejoice  the  dead  reigns  in 
this  valley.  We  shall  be  wakened  b}^  the  song  of 
birds,  or  the  shivering  of  the  poplars  to  the  breeze.  A 
little  brook  comes  down  the  hillside  and  runs  to  the 
pond  over  silvery  sands  between  banks  of  water-cress  ; 
I  don't  know  that  any  monej^  could  have  bought 
that !  But  oh  !  will  Gaston  think  these  charms  are  too 
complete  and  so  dislike  them  ?  All  is  so  beautiful  that 
I  tremble  at  it ;  worms  are  in  the  finest  fruits,  insects 
attack  the  loveliest  flowers  !  It  is  alwaj's  the  pride  of 
the  forest  those  horrible  brown  larvae  gnaw  with  a 
voracity  like  that  of  death.     I  know  already  by  expert- 


Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women.     267 

ence  that  an  invisible  and  jealous  power  undermines  all   J   v' 
perfect  felicity.     How  many  times  yon  have  told  me 
so  !     You  were  a  prophet. 

Yesterday,  when  I  went  to  see  if  my  last  fancies  and 
ideas  had  been  thoroughl}^  understood  and  carried  out, 
tears  came  into  my  eyes  at  such  perfection,  and  I  wrote 
at  the  foot  of  the  architect's  account  (to  his  great  sur- 
prise) "  Correct ;  pa}^  at  once." 

*'  But  your  man  of  business  will  not  pay  it  in  that 
way,  madame,"  he  said.  "  It  is  a  matter  of  three  hundred 
thousand  francs." 

So  I  added  the  words  "without  discussion,"  like 
a  true  Chaulieu  of  the  seventeenth  century. 

"  But,  monsieur,"  I  said,  "  I  make  one  condition  ;  do 
not  speak  of  these  buildings  or  of  the  park  to  anj^  one. 
No  one  knows  me  here,  even  by  name,  and  I  put  you  on 
your  honor  to  observe  my  wishes  in  this  respect." 

Now  you  understand  the  meaning  of  all  my  sudden 
movements,  and  my  secret  comings  and  goings.  You 
see  now  where  my  beautiful  things  that  rumor  told  you 
were  sold  have  gone.  Will  you  admit  the  lofty  reason 
of  this  change  in  my  life?  Dear,  to  love  is  a  great 
business,  and  whoso  would  love  well  must  have  no 
other.  I  have  simplified  all  others ;  money  can  never 
be  a  care  to  me  now.  I  have  made  life  easy ;  I  have  so 
arranged  my  household  once  for  all  that  I  shall  have  no 
care  except   perhaps  for  ten  minutes   every   morning 


268     Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women. 

with  my  major-domo,  old  Philippe.  I  have  studied  life 
and  its  dangerous  whirlpools ;  death  taught  me  one 
fatal  day  a  cruel  lesson,  and  I  mean  to  profit  by  it. 
My  sole  occupation  shall  be  to  please  him^  to  love  A^m, 
and  to  put  variety  into  what  might  seem  a  monotonous 
existence  to  common  souls. 

Gaston  knows  nothing  of  all  this  as  3'et.  At  my 
request  he  has  made  himself  (and  so  have  I)  a  resident 
of  Ville  d'Avray.  To-morrow  we  start  for  the  Clialet. 
Our  life  there  will  not  be  costly  ;  though,  if  I  were  to 
tell  you  the  sum  at  which  I  estimate  my  toilet  3'ou 
would  sa}^  and  not  without  reason,  "She  is  mad!" 
I  wish  to  adorn  m3'self  for  him,  ever}"  day,  as  other 
women  adorn  themselves  for  societ}'.  M}^  toilet  in  this 
countr}"  solitude  will  therefore  cost,  for  the  whole 
year,  twenty-four  thousand  francs.  He  may  wear 
blouses  if  he  likes.  Don't  think  I  mean  to  make  this 
life  a  duel,  and  to  exhaust  myself  in  efforts  and  con- 
trivances to  retain  love;  no,  but  I  will  not  leave  an}^- 
thing  unguarded  for  which  I  could  blame  myself,  that  is 
all.  I  have  thirteen  years  still  before  me  in  which 
to  be  a  prett}^  woman ;  I  wish  to  be  loved  to  the  last 
day  of  the  thirteenth  year  even  more  than  I  shall  be  on 
the  morrow  of  my  m3'sterious  marriage.  This  time 
I  will  be  humble,  grateful ;  no  caustic  word  shall  escape 
me  ;  I  will  make  myself  a  servant,  —  for  power  and  com- 
mand it  was  that  ruined  me  that  first  time. 


Mernoirs  of  Tvjo   Young  Married  Women.      269 

Oh,  Renee !  if,  like  me,  Gaston  has  understood  the 
infinitude  of  love  I  am  certain  of  living  ever  happj^ 
Natnre  is  so  lovely  around  the  Chalet ;  the  woods  are 
ravishing.  At  every  turn  a  dewy  landscape,  or  wood- 
land scenes  which  refresh  the  soul  with  their  sweet 
ideas.  These  woods  are  fidl  of  love.  God  grant  I 
may  not  have  made  m3'self  a  pjTc  with  them  !  To- 
morrow I  shall  be  Madame  Gaston.  I  ask  my  soul  if 
it  is  Christian  to  love  a  man  so  much. 

*'  It  is  legal,"  said  my  notar}^  (who  is  to  be  my 
witness  to-morrow)  referring  to  the  liquidation  of  my 
property ;  and  then  he  added  :  "  But  I  lose  a  client." 
And  you,  my  beautiful  Renee,  —  I  dare  not  still  sa^*  my 
dearest,  — you  ma}^  well  say :  "I  lose  a  sister." 

Address  your  letters  in  future  to  "  Madame  Gaston, 
poste  restante,  Versailles."  We  shall  send  there  for 
our  letters  every  day ;  and  all  our  provisions  are  to 
come  from  Paris ;  so  I  hope  we  shall  be  able  to  live  in 
absolute  retirement.  During  the  year  the  place  has 
been  preparing  no  one  has  set  foot  there  ;  the  purchase 
was  made  during  the  public  excitement  which  followed 
the  revolution  of  July,  and  it  thus  escaped  notice. 

Adieu.  In  writing  that  word  I  have  as  much  pain  as 
I  have  pleasure  in  my  heart ;  does  not  that  mean  that  I 
regret  you  as  profoundly  as  I  love  Gaston  ? 


270     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married   Women. 
XLIX. 

M.    MARIE    GASTON   TO    M.    DANIEL    d'aRTH^JZ. 

October,  1833. 

My  dear  Daniel,  —  I  want  two  witnesses  for  my 
marriage,  and  I  beg  you  to  come  to  me  to-morrow  even- 
ing and  bring  with  yon  our  friend,  the  good  and  great 
Joseph  Bridau.  The  intention  of  the  lady  who  will  be 
my  wife  is  to  live  remote  from  society,  in  perfect 
solitude ;  in  this  she  has  foreseen  my  most  ardent 
wishes.  You  have  known  nothing  of  my  love,  —  you 
who  softened  the  woes  of  my  poverty-stricken  life, — 
but  I  know  you  will  feel  that  this  secrecy  must  have 
been  a  necessity.  This  is  wh}-,  for  the  last  3^ear,  you 
have  seen  me  so  seldom.  After  my  marriage  we  shall 
be  separated  for  a  long  time.  Daniel,  you  have  a  soul 
able  to  understand  me ;  friendship  cannot  exist  with- 
out the  friend.  Perhaps  I  shall  sometimes  feel  the 
need  of  you,  but  I  cannot  see  you,  in  my  own  house  at 
least.  In  this  respect  She  has  gone  even  bej^ond  my 
desires.  She  has  sacrificed  to  me  and  to  our  solitude 
the  friend  of  her  childhood,  who  has  been  a  true  sister 
to  her ;  in  return  I  immolate  my  friend. 

All  this  will  make  3^ou  perceive,  not  a  passion,  but  a 
true  love,  —  complete,  divine,  founded  on  an  intimate 
knowledge  between   two  beings   who  link   themselves 


Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married   Women.       271 

together.  M3'  happiness  is  pure,  and  it  is  infinite  ;  but 
as  some  secret  law  forbids  us  to  enjoy  unmingled 
happiness,  there  lurks  in  the  depths  of  my  heart  a 
thought  which  troubles  me  alone,  for  she  knows  nothing 
of  it.  You  know  the  dreadful  situation  I  was  once  in, 
for  3'Ou  have  often  helped  me  in  it.  Where  and  how 
did  I  get  courage  to  live  when  hope  was  overthrown  so 
often?  From  your  past  life,  my  friend,  —  from  you,  in 
whom  I  found  such  true  consolation,  such  delicate 
relief.  But  now.  She  has  paid  m}'  crushing  debts. 
She  is  rich,  and  I  have  nothing.  How  often  have  I  said 
in  my  lazy  moments,  '*  Ah!  if  any  rich  woman  would 
only  take  a  fancy  to  me  ! "  Well,  in  presence  of  that 
accomplished  fact,  the  heedless  jest  of  the  boy,  the 
actual  scheme  of  many  an  unscrupulous  pauper,  takes 
another  aspect ;  I  am  humiliated  in  spite  of  the  nobility 
of  her  soul  —  of  which  I  am  sure.  Moreover,  she  has 
seen  that  I  did  not  recoil  from  that  abasement.  A 
point  is  reached  where,  instead  of  being  a  protector,  I 
am  the  protected  one. 

I  confide  that  suflTering  to  you,  my  dear  Daniel,  but 
outside  of  that  point,  let  me  hasten  to  say,  all  things 
are  far  beyond  my  dreams.  I  have  found  the  Beau- 
tiful without  a  flaw,  the  Good  without  defect.  As  the 
sayTng  is,  the  bride  is  too  enchanting ;  she  has  intelli- 
gence in  her  tenderness,  and  the  charm  and  grace 
which  give  variety  to  love ;  she  is  educated  and  under- 


272     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married   Women. 

stands  all  topics ;  she  is  pretty,  fair,  and  lithe,  but 
plump  as  well ;  one  might  say  that  RafFaelle  and 
Rubens  had  conspired  to  produce  such  a  woman.  I 
don't  know  if  it  would  have  been  possible  for  me  to 
love  a  dark  woman  as  much  as  a  fair  one ;  for  dark 
women  always  seem  to  me  half  boj's.  She  is  a  widow, 
and  has  no  children.  Though  eager,  alert,  and  inde- 
fatigable, she  nevertheless  finds  pleasure  in  melancholy 
meditations.  These  diverse  gifts  do  not  exclude  in  her 
either  dignit}'  or  nobilit}^  of  manner ;  she  is  imposing. 
Though  she  belongs  to  one  of  the  oldest  of  our  noble 
families,  she  loves  me  enough  to  overlook  the  misfor- 
tunes of  my  birth. 

Our  secret  love  has  lasted  long  ;  we  have  tested  one- 
another  thoroughly  ;  we  are  each  jealous  ;  our  thoughts 
are  like  two  flashes  from  one  thunderclap  ;  we  both 
love  for  the  first  time ;  and  this  delicious  spring-time 
holds  in  its  joys  all  that  imagination  can  conceive  of 
happiness.  Each  day  is  full  to  overflowing,  and  when 
we  part  we  write  poems  to  each  other.  I  have  never 
once  thought  of  tarnishing  this  beautiful  season  of  our 
love  with  desires,  though  m}'  soul  is  filled  with  them. 
She  was  a  widow  and  free,  and  she  has  thoroughly  un- 
derstood the  flatter}'  of  this  restraint ;  she  is  sometimes 
touched  to  tears.  You  will  see  in  her  to-morrow,  my 
dear  Daniel,  a  really  superior  being.  Not  a  kiss  of 
love  has  there  been  between  us ;  we  have  mutually 
been  in  awe  of  one  another. 


Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women.       273 

"  We  have  each,"  she  said  to  me,  "a  grievous  thing 
in  our  lives  to  overlook." 

"  I  do  not  see  3'ours." 

**My  marriage,"  she  answered. 

You,  who  are  a  great  man,  and  who  love  one  of  the 

most  distinguished  women  in  that  aristocratic  world  in 

which  I   found    my  Armande,   will  comprehend    that 

speech ;  it  will  suffice  you  to  understand  her  soul,  and 

what  will  be  the  happiness  of 

Your  friend, 

Marie  Gaston. 


MADAME    DE    L  ESTORADE   TO    MADAME    GASTON. 

Oh,  Louise,  can  it  be  that  after  all  your  experience 
of  the  misfortunes  of  exclusive  love,  3'ou  mean  to  bury 
yourself  with  a  husband  in  solitude?  After  declaring 
that  3'ou  killed  one  by  exactions  in  the  world,  do  3'ou 
reall3^  mean  to  live  apart  from  the  world  to  devour 
another  ?  What  griefs  3'ou  are  preparing  for  3'ourself  ! 
But  from  the  way  3'ou  have  set  about  the  matter  I  see 
it  is  irrevocable.  A  man  who  has  made  3'ou  overcome 
3'our  aversion  to  second  marriages  must  be  angelic  in 
mind  and  divine  in  heart ;  and  I  ought,  therefore,  not 
to  meddle  with  your  illusions.  You  are  happ3^  in  3'Our 
belief  in  happiness,  and  T  have  not  the  heart  to  blame 

18 


274     Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women. 

3'ou,  though  the  instinct  of  my  tenderness  would  have 
made  me  try  to  turn  j^ou  from  this  marriage,  had  I 
known  of  it  in  time.  Yes,  a  hundred  times  yes,  nature 
and  society  combine  to  destroy  the  existence  of  unal- 
loyed happiness  ;  because  such  happiness  runs  counter 
to  nature  and  society,  -r-  perhaps,  too,  heaven  is  jealous 
of  its  rights.  At  any  rate,  if  you  persist  in  burying 
3'ourself  with  your  love,  and  living  exclusively  for  that, 
my  friendship  foresees  some  misfortune,  the  nature  of 
which  I  am  unable  to  prophesy,  not  knowing  whence  it 
may  come  nor  what  will  give  birth  to  it.  Besides, 
dearest,  I  am  sure  so  vast  and  boundless  a  happiness 
will  be  too  much  for  you  to  bear  indefinitely ;  excessive 
joy  is  even  more  exhausting  than  the  heaviest  burden. 
I  don't  say  anything  against  him ;  yo\x  love  him,  and 
that 's  enough ;  but  1  do  hope  you  will  write  to  me, 
some  day  when  you  have  nothing  to  do,  and  give  me  a 
full  description  of  this  beautiful  and  rare  "  animal." 

You  see  I  take  the  matter  gayly  ;  the  fact  is,  I  feel 
certain  that  when  the  honeymoon  is  well  over  jou.  will 
both  with  one  accord  settle  down,  and  do  as  other 
people  do.  Some  day,  say  two  years  hence,  when  you 
and  I  are  driving  together  on  the  road  to  Versailles, 
you  will  say  to  me  :  "  There 's  the  chalet  I  said  I  would 
never  leave ! "  and  then  you  '11  laugh  your  own  good 
laugh,   and  show  all  your  pretty  teeth. 

I  hav^e  not  told  Louis  as  yet ;  and  I  shall  not  tell  him 


Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women.     275 

all,  for  I  am  afraid  it  would  make  him  laugh.  I  shall 
simplj'  tell  him  of  3'our  marriage  and  3'our  wish  to  keep 
it  secret  for  the  present.  Here  it  is  October ;  3'ou  are 
a  brave  woman  to  face  the  winter  in  the  country ;  if  it 
did  not  concern  marriage  I  should  sa}'  you  were  taking 
the  bull  b}'  the  horns.  Rest  assured  that  you  have  in 
me  a  friend  who  will  be  both  discreet  and  intelligent. 
The  mysterious  centre  of  Africa  lias  swallowed  up 
many  a  traveller,  and  it  seems  to  me  that,  in  the 
matter  of  sentiment,  you  are  rushing  into  a  journej^ 
like  that  of  so  many  explorers  who  have  lost  their  lives 
either  through  the  natives  or  the  burning  sands.  Hap- 
pily, your  Africa  is  only  six  miles  from  Paris,  so  I 
gayly  say  to  you  :  "  Bon  voyage  !  we  shall  see  you  back 
soon." 


LI. 

MADAME     DE    l'eSTORADE    TO    MADAME     GASTON. 

Paris,  1835. 
What  has  become  of  you,  dear  Louise?  After  a  si- 
lence of  two  3'ears  surely  3'our  Renee  has  a  right  to  make 
inquiries.  Is  this  love?  Does  it  necessitate  the  annul- 
ling of  a  friendship  like  ours  ?  Admit  that  if  I  adore  my 
children  even  more  than  you  love  your  Gaston,  there 
is  in  that  maternal  sentiment  a  breadth  and  grandeur 


276     Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women. 

■which  does  not  allow  of  depriving  other  affections  of 
their  due,  but,  on  the  contrar}-,  leaves  a  woman  free 
to  be  a  sincere  and  devoted  friend.  Your  letters,  jour 
dear  sweet  face,  are  sorelj'  lacking  to  me.  I  am  reduced 
to  conjectures  about  3'ou.     Oh,  Louise  ! 

As  for  ourselves,  I  will  run  over  our  events  as  suc- 
cinctly as  possible. 

In  re-reading  3'our  last  letter  but  one  I  was  struck 
with  a  few  sharp  words  about  our  political  position. 
You  twitted  us  with  having  kept  the  presidency  of  the 
Cour  des  Comptes,  which,  as  you  observed,  we  hold, 
together  with  the  title  of  count,  through  the  favor  of 
Charles  X.  But  if  we  had  only  our  patrimonial  income 
to  depend  upon  how  could  I,  with  only  forty  thousand 
francs  a  3'ear  (thirt}'  of  which  are  entailed  with  the  prop- 
erty) ,  —  how  could  I  establish  Athenais  and  m}^  poor 
little  "pauper"  Rene?  Ought  we  not  to  live  on  the 
salary  of  the  post,  and  lay  by  the  income  from  the  estate  ? 
In  twenty  years  we  can  amass  nearly  six  hundred  thou- 
sand francs,  which  will  serve  to  dower  my  daughter  and 
provide  for  Rene,  whom  I  mean  to  put  into  the  navy. 
The  little  pauper  will  thus  have  ten  thousand  francs  a 
year,  and  possibl}^  we  might  be  able  to  leave  him  a  sum 
in  hand  equal  to  his  sister's  portion.  When  he  is  a 
post-captain  he  will  be  able  to  marry  a  rich  girl  and 
perhaps  hold  as  good  a  position  in  the  world  as  his 
elder  brother. 


Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women.     277 

These  sage  calculations  made  us  resolve  in  our  own 
minds  to  accept  the  new  order  of  things.  Naturally, 
the  new  dynasty  in  return  made  Louis  a  peer  of  France 
and  a  grand  officer  of  the  Legion  of  honor.  As  soon 
as  I'Estorade  took  the  oaths,  he  could  not,  and  ought 
not  to  do  the  thing  by  halves  ;  from  that  time  therefore 
he  has  rendered  great  services  in  the  Chamber.  He  has 
now  reached  a  position  in  which  he  can  tranquill}^  remain 
to  the  end  of  his  days.  He  has  dexterity  in  public 
business  ;  he  is  more  of  a  debater  than  an  orator,  but 
that  is  all  that  is  needed  of  him.  His  shrewdness,  and 
his  sound  knowledge,  both  in  questions  of  government 
policy  and  in  matters  of  administration,  are  appreciated, 
and  all  parties  now  regard  him  as  an  indispensable  man. 
I  may  tell  you  privately  that  an  embassy  was  lately 
offered  to  him ;  but  I  made  him  decline  it.  The  edu- 
cation of  Armand,  who  is  now  thirteen,  and  Athenais, 
who  is  nearly  eleven,  keeps  me  in  Paris,  and  I  want 
to  stay  here  till  my  little  Rene  has  finished  his,  which 
is  only  beginning. 

To  continue  faithful  to  the  Elder  Branch  and  live  on 
the  estate  would  not  have  enabled  me  to  educate  my 
children  and  provide  for  the  two  youngest.  A  mother, 
my  dearest,  can't  be  a  Decius,  —  especially  in  times  when 
Deciuses  are  rare.  Fifteen  years  from  now  I'Estorade 
can  retire  to  La  Crampade  with  a  handsome  pension, 
after  installing  Armand  as  referendary  in  the  Cour  des 


278     Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women. 

Comptes.  As  for  Eene,  the  navy  will  no  doubt  lead 
him  into  diplomac}' ;  at  seven  years  old  the  little 
monkey  is  as  shrewd  as  an  old  cardinal. 

Ah !  Louise,  I  am  a  very  happy  mother.  My  chil- 
dren continue  to  give  me  joys  without  a  cloud,  —  Senza 
brama.,  sicura  ricchezza.  Armand  is  in  the  College 
Henri  IV.  I  decided  on  public  education  without  being 
able  to  bring  m^^self  to  a  total  separation  from  him  ;  I 
did  therefore  as  the  Due  d'Orleans  did  before  becom- 
ing —  possibly  in  order  to  be  —  Louis  Philippe.  Every 
morning  Lucas  (the  old  servant,  whom  you  will  remem- 
ber) takes  Armand  to  school,  and  fetches  him  at  half- 
past  four  in  the  afternoon.  An  old  and  excellent  tutor 
who  lives  in  our  house  makes  him  learn  his  lessons  at 
night,  and  wakes  him  in  the  morning  in  time  for  school. 
Lucas  takes  him  his  lunch  during  the  recreation.  Thus 
I  see  him  at  dinner,  and  in  the  evening  before  he  goes  to 
bed,  and  I  alwa3'8  see  him  off  in  the  morning.  He  is 
the  same  charming  child,  full  of  heart  and  devotion, 
whom  3'ou  loved ;  his  tutor  is  satisfied  with  him.  I 
have  my  Nais  and  the  little  one  with  me  ;  they  keep  up 
an  incessant  buzzing,  but  I  am  just  as  much  of  a  child 
as  they.  I  could  not  force  myself  to  give  up  m}-  dear 
children's  presence  and  caresses.  I  can  now  rush  to 
Armand's  bed,  if  I  so  please,  and  look  at  him  as  he 
sleeps ;  and,  to  tell  the  truth,  to  take  and  give  a  kiss 
to  that  angel  is  a  necessity  of  my  existence. 


Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women.     279 

.  Still,  the  system  of  keeping  children  at  home  has  its 
disadvantages ;  I  full}"  recognize  them.  Societ}',  like 
nature,  is  jealous,  and  will  not  allow  her  laws  to  be 
infringed  upon ;  she  does  not  choose  to  have  her 
S3"stem  of  econom}^  upset.  Therefore,  in  those  families 
where  children  are  kept  at  home  thej^  are  too  early 
exposed  to  the  fire  of  the  world,  they  see  its  passions 
and  its  dissimulations.  Incapable  of  even  guessing 
the  distinctions  which  guide  the  conduct  of  grown 
persons,  they  subject  life  to  their  feelings  and  passions, 
instead  of  subjecting  their  desires  and  requirements  to 
the  world.  Children  are  soon  taken  by  false  brilliancy, 
which  shines  very  much  more  in  society  than  solid  vir- 
tues ;  for  it  is  appearances^  above  all,  which  society 
brings  to  the  front,  and  clothes  in  lying  garments. 
When  a  lad  of  fifteen  assumes  the  assurance  of  a  man 
who  knows  the  world,  he  is  a  monstrosity ;  he  is  an  old 
man  at  twenty-five,  and  renders  himself  b}'  that  preco- 
cious knowledge  incapable  of  the  solid  studies  on  which 
real  and  serious  talents  rest.  The  world  is  a  great 
comedian,  and,  like  a  comedian,  it  receives  and  returns 
all ;  it  keeps  nothing.  A  mother  therefore  must^  if  she 
keeps  her  children  at  home,  make  a  firm  resolution  not 
to  allow  them  to  enter  the  world ;  she  must  have  the 
courage  to  oppose  their  desires,  and  her  own,  in  this 
matter.  Cornelia  kept  her  jewels  in  their  casket ;  and 
so  shall  I,  for  my  children  are  my  life. 


280     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women. 

I  am  thirty  years  old,  and  the  heat  of  the  day  is  over, 
the  hardest  part  of  the  journey  done.  In  a  few  years  I 
shall  be  an  old  woman,  and  I  shall  find  immense  strength 
in  the  feeling  of  having  done  my  duty.  One  would 
really  think  my  three  dear  beings  understood  this 
thought  of  mine  and  conformed  to  it.  There  exist 
between  them  (who  have  never  left  my  side)  and  me 
mysterious  relations.  They  shower  enjoyments  upon 
me  as  if  they  knew  all  that  they  owe  me  in  the  way 
of  compensation. 

Armand,  who  for  the  first  three  years  of  his  studies, 
was  heavy,  meditative,  and  caused  me  some  anxiety, 
suddenly  took  a  start.  No  doubt  he  began  to  perceive 
the  object  of  preparatory  studies,  which  children  do 
not  always  see,  and  which  is,  in  fact,  to  train  them  to 
stud}^  to  sharpen  their  intelligence,  and  mould  them 
to  obedience,  —  the  mainspring  of  society.  My  dear, 
a  few  days  ago  I  had  the  intoxicating  sensation  of 
seeing  Armand  before  a  great  audience  at  the  Sorbonne. 
At  the  distribution  of  prizes  at  the  College  Henri  IV.  he 
obtained  two  first  prizes,  that  for  verses  and  that  for 
theme.  I  turned  white  when  I  heard  his  name  called, 
and  I  longed  to  cry  out,  ' '  I  am  his  mother !  "  Nais 
squeezed  my  hand  till  she  hurt  me,  if  indeed  I  could 
feel  anything  at  such  a  moment.  Ah !  Louise,  that 
grand  day  was  better  than  all  the  lost  loves  in  the 
world. 


Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women.     281 

The  triumphs  of  his  brother  have  spurred  on  my  little 
Rene,  who  wants  to  go  to  school  like  his  elder.  Some- 
tines  the  three  children  shout  and  rush  about  the  house 
and  make  a  racket  fit  to  split  one's  head.  I  am  sure  I 
don't  know  how  I  bear  it,  for  I  am  always  there.  I 
have  never  left  to  any  one,  not  even  to  Mary,  the 
responsibility  of  watching  over  them.  But  there  are 
so  many  joys  to  garner  in  this  dear  business  of  mother- 
hood !  To  see  a  child  leave  its  play  just  to  run  up  and 
kiss  you,  as  if  driven  b}'  a  need  —  oh  !  what  joy  !  We 
can  observe  them  best  in  their  freest  moments,  for  one 
of  a  mother's  chief  duties  is  to  distinguish  from  the 
earliest  years  the  aptitudes  and  character  and  vocation 
of  her  children.  All  children  brought  up  b}'  their 
mothers  have  a  knowledge  of  customs  and  ways  of 
life  which  serves  as  a  substitute  for  natural  intelligence, 
whereas  natural  intelligence  never  takes  the  place  of 
what  men  learn  from  their  mothers.  I  recognize  these 
shades  of  difference  in  the  men  I  meet  in  salons,  where 
I  can  detect  instantl}^  the  traces  of  a  woman  in  the 
manners  of  a  young  man.  How  therefore  can  women 
deprive  their  sons  of  such  an  advantage  ?  So,  3'ou  see, 
my  duties,  if  accomplished,  are  fruitful  of  treasures 
and  joys. 

Armand,  I  am  convinced,  will  make  an  honest  and 
upright  public  man,  the  most  conscientious  deputy 
that  could  be  found  anywhere ;  whereas  my  Rene  will 


282     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women. 

be  the  boldest,  most  adventurous,  and  at  the  same 
time  the  wiliest  of  sailors.  The  little  scamp  has  an 
iron  will ;  he  gets  everything  he  wants,  and  he  makes 
a  thousand  twists  and  turns  to  reach  his  end ;  if  a 
thousand  won't  do  it  he  invents  a  thousand  and  one, 
or  more,  until  he  does  reach  it.  Where  m}^  dear  Armand 
would  resign  himself  calmlj'  and  see  the  reason  of  things, 
Rene  storms,  strives,  plans,  —  haranguing  all  the  time,  — 
and  ends  hy  finding  a  crack  of  vantage  ;  if  he  can  get 
but  the  point  of  his  knife  into  it  he  presently  drives 
through  in  his  little   chariot. 

As  for  Nais,  she  is  so  much  myself  that  I  hardly 
distinguish  her  flesh  from  mine.  Ah !  the  darling ! 
the  dear  little  girl !  whom  I  love  to  make  dainty  and 
sweet ;  whose  hair  I  braid,  in  whose  curls  I  put  my 
thoughts  of  love.  I  want  her  to  be  happy  ;  I  will  give 
her  to  no  man  whom  she  does  not  love  and  who  will 
not  love  her.  But  —  oh,  my  God !  sometimes  when  I 
am  decking  my  darling  with  ribbons  in  her  hair,  or 
tying  the  shoes  on  her  dainty  little  feet,  a  thought  darts 
into  my  heart  and  head  which  turns  me  faint.  Who  is 
mistress  of  the  fate  of  a  daughter?  Perhaps  she  will 
love  a  man  unworthy  of  her ;  perhaps  she  will  not  be 
loved  by  him  she  loves.  Often  when  I  am  watching 
her  the  tears  come  into  my  ej-es.  To  part  with  a  charm- 
ing creature,  a  flower,  a  rose  which  has  lived  in  our 
bosom   like  a  bud  on  a  rose-bush,  and  give  her  to  a 


Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women.     283 

man  who  deprives  us  of  all!  It  is  thinking  ofj^ou, 
you  who  for  two  years  have  not  written  me  even  the 
three  words  "  I  am  happy,"  which  has  brought  into  my 
mind  the  drama  of  marriage,  dreadful  to  every  mother 
who  is  a  mother  indeed. 

Adieu  !  I  don't  know  why  I  write  to  you,  for  you 
don't  deserve  m}'  friendship.  Oh,  answer  me,  my  own 
Louise ! 


LII. 


MADAME   GASTON   TO    MADAME    DE    L  ESTORADE. 

The  Chalet. 

A  SILENCE  of  two  years  excites  your  curiosity,  and 
you  want  to  know  why  I  have  not  written ;  but,  my 
dear  Renee,  there  are  no  words  nor  signs  nor  language 
in  which  to  express  my  happiness ;  our  souls  have  the 
strength  to  sustain  it,  —  there,  in  two  words,  is  all  I 
can  tell  you. 

We  have  made  not  the  slightest  effort  to  be  happy. 
We  understand  each  other  in  all  things ;  in  two  j'ears 
there  has  never  been  a  jarring  note  in  our  concert,  not  a 
discord  in  our  feelings,  not  the  faintest  difference  in  our 
wills.  In  short,  my  dearest,  there  is  no  day  which 
does  not  bring  its  own  especial  fruit,  no  moment  that 
fancy  does  not  render  delightful.  Not  only  are  we  sure 
that  our  life  can  never  be  monotonous,  but  we  fear 


284     Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women. 

sometimes  it  cannot  be  long  enough  for  all  the  poesies 
of  our  love,  which  is  fruitful  as  Nature,  and  as  varied 
as  she. 

No,  we  have  not  found  a  single  disappointment! 
We  please  each  other  better,  far  better,  than  at  first, 
and  we  hourly  discover  new  reasons  to  love  one  another. 
Often  we  say  to  ourselves  in  the  evening,  as  we  are 
walking  after  dinner  by  our  pond,  that  the  next  day  we 
will  surely  go  to  Paris  out  of  mere  curiosity,  as  sight- 
seers, —  very  much  as  one  might  say  :  "  Let  us  go  to 
Switzerland." 

"Ah,  3"es,"  Gaston  saj^s,  "they  tell  me  there's  a 
new  boulevard ;  the  Madeleine  is  finished ;  we  really 
ought  to  go  and  see  all  that.'' 

Bah  !  the  next  day  we  stay  in  bed,  and  breakfast  in 
our  room.  Mid-day  comes  ;  the  weather  is  warm,  too 
warm  to  make  an  effort.  He  asks  me  to  let  him  look 
at  me,  and  he  does,  as  if  I  were  a  picture  ;  he  buries 
himself  in  the  contemplation,  which,  as  you  may  fancy, 
is  reciprocal.  The  tears  come  into  our  eyes  ;  we  think 
of  our  happiness,  and  tremble.  I  am  alwa3"s  his  mis- 
tress ;  that  is  to  say,  I  seem  to  love  him  less  than  he 
loves  me.  That  deception  is  delicious.  There  is  such 
charm  for  women  in  seeing  sentiment  greater  than 
desire,  in  seeing  our  master  stop  there  where  we  wish 
him  to  remain. 

You   asked   me   to  tell   you  what  Gaston   is  like. 


Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women.       285 

But,  dear  Renee,  it  is  impossible  to  make  a  portrait  of 
the  man  we  love ;  we  cannot  be  truthful.  Besides, 
between  ourselves,  there  is  a  singular  and  sad  result  of 
our  manners  and  customs,  —  nameh' :  nothing  is  so  dif- 
ferent as  a  man  in  society  and  the  man  who  loves  ;  the 
difference  is  so  great  that  the}'  do  not  resemble  each 
other  in  any  particular.  He  who  takes  the  graceful 
attitudes  of  a  graceful  dancer  to  whisper  in  our  ear  at 
the  corner  of  a  fireplace  some  word  of  love  may  not 
have  any  of  love's  true  graces  such  as  women  desire 
them.  On  the  other  hand,  a  man  who  seems  ugly,  with- 
out manners,  and  ill-dressed  in  his  black  cloth,  may 
hide  a  lover  who  possesses  the  verj^  spirit  of  love,  and 
who  will  never  be  ridiculous  in  any  of  those  positions 
where  we  ourselves,  with  our  external  airs  and  graces, 
may  sometimes  fail.  To  find  in  a  man  a  mysterious 
harmony  between  what  he  seems  to  be  and  what  he  is ; 
to  meet  with  one  who  in  the  privacy  of  married  life  has 
that  innate  grace  which  cannot  be  acquired,  —  the  grace 
that  antique  sculpture  has  displayed  in  the  chastity  of 
its  statues,  the  innocence  of  abandonment  to  Nature 
that  the  ancients  have  put  into  those  poems  which, 
even  in  the  nude,  seem  to  our  souls  to  be  clothed  with 
garments,  —  all  this  ideal,  which  springs  from  ourselves 
and  belongs  to  the  world  of  harmonies,  and  is  no  doubt 
the  essence  of  all  things,  the  vast  problem  which  the 
imagination  of  all  women  is  incessantly  seeking,  —  well, 


286     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married   Women. 

Gaston  is  the  living  solution  of  it.  Ah  !  dearest,  I 
never  knew  till  now  what  love  and  3'outh  and  intellect 
and  beaut}',  all  united,  were. 

My  Gaston  is  never  affected ;  his  grace  is  instinctive, 
it  develops  without  effort.  When  we  walk  in  the  woods, 
his  arm  about  m}'  waist,  mine  on  his  shoulder,  side  to 
side,  our  heads  touching,  we  move  with  even  step  and 
a  motion  so  soft  and  uniform,  that  any  one  who  saw 
us  pass  might  think  we  were  one  being  gliding  along 
the  paths  like  the  Immortals  of  Homer.  This  harmony 
is  in  desire,  thought,  and  word.  Sometimes  beneath 
the  foliage  still  damp  from  a  passing  shower,  when 
the  grass  is  lustrous  with  the  rain-drops,  we  have 
taken  long  walks  without  uttering  a  word,  listening 
to  the  plash  of  water,  delighting  in  the  rudd^'  color 
which  the  setting  sun  spreads  upon  the  tree- tops 
or  dashes  upon  their  old  gray  trunks.  Surely,  then 
our  thoughts  were  a  prayer,  secret  and  confused,  rising 
to  heaven  as  an  excuse  for  happiness.  Sometimes  we 
exclaim  together  at  the  same  instant,  when  a  sudden 
turn  of  the  path  shows  us,  afar,  some  delicious  vista. 
If  you  knew  what  there  is  of  honey  and  of  depth  in 
a  kiss,  almost  a  timid  one,  amid  that  holy  nature !  It 
makes  one  think  that  God  made  us  to  pray  thus  to  him. 
Then  we  go  home,  loving  each  other  better,  always 
better.  Such  a  love  between  husband  and  wife  would 
seem  insulting  to  the  world  of  Paris ;  we  can  only 
indulge  it,  like  lovers,  buried  in  our  woods. 


Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women.       287 

Gaston,  my  dear,  is  of  middle  height,  which  is  that 
of  all  men  of  energy ;  he  is  neither  stoat  nor  thin,  and 
is  very  well-made ;  his  limbs  are  well-rounded  ;  he  is 
active  in  his  movements,  he  jumps  a  ditch  with  the 
spring  of  a  wild  animal.  In  any  position,  no  matter 
what  it  is,  he  has  an  instinct  in  him  b}^  which  he  finds 
his  equilibrium,  —  which  is  rare  in  men  who  have  the 
habit  of  meditating.  Though  dark,  as  distinguished 
from  fair,  his  skin  is  extremely  white.  His  hair  is 
black  as  jet,  and  produces  a  vigorous  contrast  with  the 
dead-white  tones  of  his  throat  and  forehead.  He  has 
the  melancholy  head  of  Louis  XHI.  His  moustache 
and  royale  are  black ;  I  have  made  him  cut  off  his 
whiskers  and  beard,  they  have  become  so  common. 
His  sacred  poverty  kept  him  pure  from  all  the  stains 
that  degrade  young  men.  His  teeth  are  magnificent ; 
his  health  perfect.  The  glance  of  his  blue  eye,  to  me 
of  magnetic  tenderness,  takes  fire  and  gleams  like  a 
flame  when  his  soul  is  troubled.  Like  all  strong  men 
with  powerful  intellects  he  possesses  an  equability  of 
character  which  would  surprise  you  as  much  as  it 
surprised  me. 

Many  women  have  told  me  of  their  home  trials,  ■ —  the 
instability  of  will  and  restlessness  of  men  who  are  dis- 
contented with  themselves ;  who  either  will  not  or  do 
not  know  how  to  grow  old  ;  whose  wasted  3'outh  has 
left  them  eternal  regrets ;  whose  veins  are  poisoned ; 


// 


288     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women. 

whose  ej-es  have  a  lurking  sadness  ;  who  harass  others 
to  hide  their  own  distrusts  ;  who  avenge  themselves  on 
their  wives  because  they  cannot  be  agreeable  them- 
selves, and  who  secretly  hate  our  merits  as  a  reproach 
to  their  own  defects,  —  all  these  trials  j^outh  knows 
nothing  of;  they  are  the  attributes  of  ill-proportioned 
marriages. 

Oh,  m}^  dear  Renee,  marry  Athenais  to  none  but  a 
young  man.  If  you  knew  how  I  feast  on  that  constant 
smile,  which  is  ever  varied  b}'  a  refined  and  delicate 
mind,  —  a  smile  which  speaks^  telling  of  thoughts  of 
love  and  mute  acknowledgment ;  binding  past  jo3'S 
ever  to  present  ones.  Nothing  is  forgotten  between 
us.  We  make  the  smallest  things  in  Nature  the 
sharers  of  our  happiness ;  they  are  all  living,  they 
have  a  voice  in  the  depths  of  our  woods.  An  old 
mossy  oak,  near  the  keeper's  house,  tells  us  how  we 
sat  there,  tired,  under  its  shade,  and  Gaston  explained 
to  me  the  nature  of  mosses  and  told  me  their  history, 
until,  from  fact  to  fact  and  science  to  science  our 
thought  rose  to  the  ends  of  life.  Our  two  minds  have 
something  so  fraternal  in  them  that  I  often  think  they 
are  two  copies  of  the  same  book.  You  see,  I  am  mak- 
ing myself  literary  !  We  both  have  the  habit  of  follow- 
ing out  a  thing  to  its  fullest  extent,  of  trying  to  perceive 
all  there  is  to  it,  and  the  proofs  that  we  constantl}'  give 
ourselves  of  the  integrity  of  this  inner  sense  is  a  pleas- 


Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married   Women.       289 

ure  that  is  ever  new.  We  have  come  to  regard  this 
accordance  of  mind  as  an  evidence  of  love ;  if  it  were 
ever  to  fail,  the  disaster  would  be  to  us  what  an  in- 
fidelity is  in  other  homes. 

My  life,  full  of  pleasures,  may  nevertheless  seem  to 
you  very  laborious ;  for  I  must  tell  you,  dear,  that 
Louise-Armande-Marie  de  Chaulieu  takes  care  of  her 
own  room  ;  my  rehgion  enters  into  the  smallest  things 
appertaining  to  its  worship.  I  do  my  room  with  all  the 
care  a  girl  in  love  will  spend  upon  her  own  adornment. 
1  'm  as  fussy  as  an  old  maid.  My  dressing-room, 
instead  of  being  chaos,  is  a  delightful  boudoir.  The 
master,  the  sovereign,  may  enter  at  all  hours  and  his 
ej'e  will  encounter  nothing  to  afflict  or  surprise  or  dis- 
enchant him ;  flowers,  perfume,  elegance,  all,  can  only 
charm.  In  the  earl}"  morning,  at  daybreak,  while  he 
is  still  asleep,  I  go  into  a  little  dressing-room,  where  — 
wise  with  the  experience  of  my  mother — I  remove  all 
traces  of  sleep  with  a  bath  of  cold  water.  The  pores 
of  the  skin  don't  do  their  duty  during  sleep,  the  skin 
gets  heated  and  clogged,  and  you  see  a  sort  of  atmos- 
phere upon  it.  But  out  of  a  sponge-bath  a  woman 
emerges  like  a  young  girl.  Perhaps  that  explains  the 
rayjth  of  Venus  rising  from  the  sea  ;  I  know  that  water 
gives  me  the  sparkling  freshness  of  the  Aurora.  I  comb 
and  perfume  m}^  hair ;  and  after  this  minute  and  private 
toilet  I  slip  back    and   appear   to  the   master  like   a 

19 


290     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  JVomen. 

spring  morning.  He  is  charmed  witli  the  freshness  of 
the  flower,  though  he  cannot  explain  it.  Later,  my 
toilet  for  the  day  concerns  my  maid  and  takes  place 
in  the  larger  dressing-room.  Thus  I  actualh^  make 
three  toilets,  sometimes  four,  a  day  for  Monsieur  m}'' 
husband. 

But  we  have  some  work  to  do,  nevertheless.  "We 
take  a  deep  interest  in  our  flowers,  those  beautiful 
creatures  of  our  conservatory,  and  in  our  trees.  We 
have  made  ourselves  seriously  botanists,  and  we  love 
our  flowers  passionately ;  the  Chalet  is  filled  with  them. 
Our  lawns  are  always  green,  our  groups  of  trees  and 
shrubs  are  as  carefully  tended  as  those  of  the  richest 
banker.  Nothing  can  be  more  beautiful  than  the 
grounds  about  the  house.  We  are  extremely  fastidi- 
ous about  our  fruit,  and  we  keep  incessant  watch  over 
our  hot-beds,  and  Montreuil  peaches,  our  walled  fruit, 
and  our  standard  pears.  But  in  case  these  rural  occu- 
pations should  not  be  satisfying  enough  for  the  mind 
of  my  adored,  of  which  I  have  had  my  doubts,  I 
advised  him  to  finish  in  this  perfect  quiet  and  soli- 
tude certain  plays  which  he  began  in  the  days  of 
his  poverty,  and  which  are  really  very  fine. 

That  sort  of  work  is  the  onl}-  one  in  literature  which 
can  be  taken  up,  laid  aside,  and  returned  to  ;  it  requires 
long  reflection  and  does  not  demand  the  same  perpetual 
chiselling  as  to  style.     No  one  can  write  dialogue  con- 


Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women.       291 

secutively.  Long  pauses  are  needed ;  clever  strokes 
must  be  thought  of,  situations  arranged,  climaxes  found, 
and  also  witty  sayings,  —  which  are  only  produced  by 
the  mind  as  the  plant  gives  its  flowers,  and  are,  more- 
over, found  more  readily  by  waiting  till  they  come  to 
you  than  by  search.  This  pursuit  of  ideas  pleases  me 
extremely,  I  have  made  mj^self  Gaston's  collaborator, 
and  I  never  leave  him  now,  not  even  when  he  soars 
away  into  vast  regions  of  imagination. 

Now  3'ou  know  how  I  spend  m}"  winter  evenings.  Our 
household  moves  so  easily  that  we  have  never  since  our 
marriage  had  a  word  of  reproach,  not  even  a  correction 
to  make  to  our  servants ;  they  are  happy  and  they  see 
that  their  condition  will  not  be  changed  except  by  their 
own  fault.  We  allow  the  gardeners  to  sell  the  surplus 
of  the  fruit  and  vegetables.  The  dairy-woman  does  the 
same  with  the  milk  and  cream  and  fresh  butter.  Only, 
of  course,  the  best  products  are  reserved  for  us.  The 
servants  are  pleased  with  their  profits,  and  we  are 
enchanted  with  this  profusion,  which  no  fortune  can 
procure  in  that  dreadful  Paris,  where  fine  peaches  cost, 
each,  the  revenue  of  a  hundred  francs. 

All  this,  my  dear,  has  a  meaning.  I  assume  to  be 
the  world  to  my  husband ;  now,  the  world  is  amusing ; 
my  husband  must  not,  therefore,  be  allowed  to  be  bored 
in  this  solitude.  I  thought  I  was  jealous  when  I  was 
loved  and  allowed  myself  to  be  loved  ;  but  I  know  now 


292     Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married   Women. 

what  the  jealous}^  of  a  woman  who  loves  really  is,  — 
that  is,  real  jealousy.  It  has  come  to  this,  that  if  a 
single  glance  of  his  seems  indifferent  I  tremble.  Some- 
times I  say  to  m3"self,  "  What  if  he  ceased  to  love 
me  ?  "  —  and  I  shudder.  Oh  !  I  am  before  him  as  the 
soul  of  a  Christian  is  before  God. 

Alas !  my  Renee,  I  still  have  no  children.  The 
moment  will  doubtless  come  when  the  feelings  of  a 
father  and  mother  will  be  needed  to  keep  us  in  love 
with  this  retreat ;  we  shall  both  desire  the  little  brown 
or  blond  heads,  the  little  frocks,  the  pelerines  skipping 
and  running  along  our  flowery  paths  and  among  the 
copses.  Oh !  it  is  unnatural,  abnormal,  that  flowers 
should  have  no  fruits  !  The  recollection  of  3^our  beauti- 
ful family  assails  me  poignantly  at  times.  My  life  — 
mine !  —  has  narrowed,  while  3'ours  has  expanded, 
^y  has  shone  out.  Love  is  profoundly  selfish,  whereas 
motherhood  tends  to  multipl}^  all  feelings.  I  deeply 
felt  this  difference  between  us  when  I  read  your  good, 
your  tender  letter.  Your  happiness  fills  me  with  envy 
when  T  think  of  3'ou  living  in  those  three  hearts. 

Yes !  you  are  happy  ;  you  have  wiselj'  conformed  to 
the  laws  of  social  life ;  whereas  I  am  aloof  from  all. 
Nothing  can  ever  console  a  woman  for  the  loss  of  her 
beauty  but  loving  and  beloved  children.  I  shall  soon 
be  thirty,  and  at  that  age  a  woman  begins  some  terrible 
inward  lamentations.     I  am  still  beautiful,  but   I   see 


Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women.     293 

the  boundary  of  a  woman's  life ;  beyond  it,  what  will 
become  of  me  ?  When  I  am  forty  he  will  still  be  young, 
I  shall  be  old.  Whenever  that  thought  enters  my  heart 
I  lie  at  his  feet  and  make  him  swear  that  when  he  feels 
his  love  diminishing  he  will  tell  me  so  —  instantly. 
But  he  is  only  a  child ;  he  swears  it  in  a  tone  as  if  his 
love  could  never  diminish ;  and  he  is  so  beautiful 
that  —  oh,  Renee,  3'ou  understand  ?  —  I  believe  him  ! 

Adieu,  dear  angel ;  will  it  again  be  j'ears  before  we 
write  to  each  other?  Happiness  is  monotonous  in  its 
expression ;  perhaps  it  is  because  of  that  great  diffi- 
culty that  Dante  seems  to  loving  souls  grander  in 
the  Paradiso  than  in  the  Inferno.  I  am  not  Dante, 
I  am  only  your  friend,  and  I  do  not  want  to  tire  you 
out.  But  3"ou,  —  you  must  write  to  me,  for  you  have  in 
your  children  an  ever-varying  happiness  and  a  growing 
one,  whereas  mine  —  but  oh!  why  talk  of  it  any 
more? 

Adieu ;  I  send  you  a  thousand  tender  thoughts. 


LIII. 


My  dear  Louise,  —  I  have  read  and  reread  your 
letter  and  the  more  it  penetrates  my  mind,  the  more  I  feel 
that  you  are  less  a  woman  than  a  child.     You  have 


294     Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women. 

not  changed  ;  you  forget  what  I  have  told  3^ou  a  thou- 
sand times  ;  nameh',  that  the  passion  of  Love  is  a  theft 
committed  b}-  the  social  state  from  the  natural  state  ;  it 
is  so  transient  in  nature  that  the  resources  of  society 
cannot  change  its  primitive  condition.  Therefore  all 
noble  souls  have  endeavored  to  dignify  that  passion, 
to  make  a  man  of  that  child ;  but  then  Love  becomes, 
3'ou  say,  an  anomaly-. 

Society  desires  to  be  fruitful.  By  substituting  last- 
ing sentiments  for  the  transient  joys  of  nature  it  has 
created  the  grandest  of  all  human  things, —  the  Family, 
eternal  base  of  all  society-.  To  this  it  sacrifices  the 
man  as  well  as  the  woman  ;  for,  let  us  not  mislead  our- 
selves, the  father  of  a  family  gives  his  activit}',  his 
powers,  all  his  fortunes  to  his  wife.  It  is  the  wife  who 
profits  by  these  sacrifices.  Luxury,  wealth,  are  mostly 
for  her ;  for  her  the  glory  and  elegance,  the  flower  and 
sweetness  of  the  home.  Oh,  my  angel,  3'ou  are  once 
more  taking  life  amiss.  To  be  worshipped  is  the  theor}^ 
of  the  young  girl,  good  for  the  spring-tide  of  life,  but 
not  that  of  the  woman  who  is  a  wife  and  a  mother. 

Perhaps  it  is  enough  for  a  woman's  self-love  to  know 
that  she  can  make  herself  adored.  If  you  wish  to  be 
a  wife  and  a  mother  be  satisfied  with  that  knowledge 
and  return  to  Paris.  Let  me  tell  you  again  and  yet 
again  that  you  will  lose  through  happiness  what  others 
lose   through   unhappiness.     Listen   to  me,  my  child; 


Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women.     295 

even  if  I  could  be  loved  bj-  a  man  for  whom  I  felt  in  me 
the  love  you  feel  for  Gaston,  I  still  would  hold  to  my 
dear  duty,  to  my  sweet  familj-.  Motherhood  is  to  the 
heart  of  a  woman  one  of  those  simple,  natural,  fruitful, 
inexhaustible  things  that  are  like  the  very  elements  of 
life.  I  remember  how  one  day,  now  fourteen  years 
ago,  I  clasped  self-devotion  as  a  drowning  man  clings 
to  the  mast  of  his  vessel,  in  despair  ;  but  to-day,  when  I 
evoke  the  memorj'  of  all  my  past  before  me,  T  choose 
once  more  that  motive  as  the  principle  of  my  life  ;  for  it 
is  the  safest  and  the  most  fruitful  of  all.  The  knowl- 
edge of  your  life,  which  is  based,  oh  !  dear  Louise,  on  a 
passionate  egotism,  has  strengthened  my  resolution,  y 
I  will  never  tell  you  all  these  things  again  ;  but  I  ought 
to  tell  them  to  3'ou  once  more  apd  for  the  last  time 
because  T  see  that  you  are  puttiijg  your  happiness  to  a 
most  terrible  trial. 

I  have  reflected  deepl}-  over  your  life  in  the  country, 
and  another  observation  comes  into  my  mind  which  I 
think  1  ought  to  tell  you.  Life  is  made  up,  both  for 
heart  and  bod}-,  of  certain  regular  movements.  All  1  / 
excess  brought  into  the  mechanism  is  a  cause  of  pleas-  J 
ure  or  of  pain  ;  now  pleasure,  or  pain,  is  a  fever  of  the 
soul  which  is  essentially  transient,  because  neither  can 
be  long  borne.  To  make  one's  life  an  excess,  isn't 
that  making  it  a  hfe  of  illness?  You  are  ill,  so  long  as 
yovi  raaintaiji  at  th^  level  of  passion  an  emotion  which 


296     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women. 

ought  to  become  in  marriage  a  pure  and  equable  power. 
Yes,  my  angel,  to-day  I  know  it,  the  glory  of  a  home 
is  in  that  calm  existence,  that  deep  and  mutual  com- 
prehension, that  communion  of  jojs  and  trials  for  which 
it  is  sometimes  laughed  at.  Oh !  how  grand  was  that 
saying  of  the  Duchesse  de  Sully,  the  wife  of  the  great 
Sully,  when  they  told  her  that  her  husband,  grave  as 
he  seemed,  did  not  scruple  to  have  a  mistress  :  ^'  That 
is  explainable,"  she  answered.  "  I  am  the  honor  of  the 
house.  I  should  be  very  sorry  to  play  the  part  of  a 
courtesan." 

My  Louise,  you,  who  are  more  passionate  than 
tender,  you  wish  to  be  the  wife  and  mistress  too. 
With  the  soul  of  Heloise  and  the  senses  of  Saint 
Teresa,  you  give  yourself  wholly  up  to  a  disorder  sanc- 
tioned by  the  laws ;  in  other  words,  you  deprave  the 
institution  of  marriage.  Yes,  you,  who  judged  me  so 
severely  when  I  seemed  immoral  in  accepting  from  the 
day  of  my  marriage  the  means  of  happiness  within  my 
reach,  you  deserve  to-day  the  reproach  you  made  me 
then.  You  want  to  bend  nature  and  society  to  the 
service  of  your  passion.  You  remain  what  you  were  ; 
3'ou  are  not  transforming  30urself  into  what  a  woman 
should  be.  You  are  retaining  the  wishes  and  the  will 
and  exactions  of  a  young  girl.  I  might  call  your 
passion  calculating.  Are  you  not  selling  j^our  adorn- 
ments for  a  price  ?     Behind  all  those  preparations  and 


Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women.     297 

precautions,  I  think  I  see  you  are  distrustful.  Oil ! 
dear  Louise,  if  3'ou  did  but  know  tiie  sweetness  of 
tlie  labor  women  do  in  making  tiiemselves  good  and 
tender  to  their  family.  The  independence  of  mj'  char- 
acter took  its  rise  in  that  early  sadness  which  maternal 
pleasures  dissipated,  and  now  the  joys  of  family  are  my 
recompense.  If  the  morning  was  difficult,  the  evening 
will  be  pure  and  serene.  I  fear  it  may  be  otherwise 
with  your  life.  As  I  finished  reading  your  letter  I 
prayed  to  God  to  convert  you  to  the  famil}' ;  to  make 
you  taste  those  joys,  unspeakable,  constant,  eternal, 
because  they  are  true  and  simple  and  in  our  nature. 

But  alas  !  what  can  my  reasoning  do  against  an  evil 
which  makes  you  happy?  The  tears  are  in  my  eyes 
as  I  write  these  words.  I  did  really  and  truly  believe 
that  a  few  months  given  to  this  passionate  conjugal 
love  would  bring  you  back  to  a  reasonable  sense  of 
things,  through  exhaustion  of  the  sentiment ;  but  I  see 
you  are  insatiable,  —  after  killing  a  lover  you  will  now 
kill  love.  Adieu,  dear  misguided  one ;  I  despair  of 
helping  you,  since  the  letter  in  which  I  strove  so  hard 
to  bring  jovl  to  the  true  life  of  woman  in  the  social 
sphere,  by  a  picture  of  my  happiness,  has  only  served 
to  glorify  the  egotism  of  your  existence.  Yes,jthere  is 
nought  but  yourself  in  your  love,  and  you  love  Gaston 
far  more  for  3'ourself  than  for  him. 


298     Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women, 


LIV. 

MADAME   GASTON   TO   MADAME   DE   l'eSTORADE. 

May  20. 

Renee  !  the  blow  has  come  —  no,  it  has  fallen  upon 
your  poor  Louise  with  the  rapidity  of  a  thunderbolt. 
For  me,  you  know  well,  that  blow  is  doubt.  Conviction 
would  be  death. 

Two  days  ago,  after  my  morning  toilet,  I  looked 
everj^where  for  Gaston  to  take  a  little  walk  before 
breakfast.  I  could  not  find  him.  At  last  I  went  to  the 
stable,  and  there  I  saw  his  mare  covered  with  sweat ; 
the  groom  was  scraping  off  the  clots  of  foam  with  a 
knife  before  rubbing  her  down. 

''  Who  has  put  Fedelta  in  such  a  state?''  I  asked. 

''  Monsieur,"  replied  the  boy. 

I  saw  the  mud  of  Paris,  which  is  not  the  least  like 
country  mud  on  the  mare's  legs.  "He  has  been  to 
Paris  !  "  I  thought.  That  thought  brought  a  thousand 
others  rushing  into  mj^  heart,  and  all  my  blood  flew 
there.  To  go  to  Paris  without  telling  me,  at  the  very 
hour  when  I  always  left  him  alone ;  to  rush  there  and 
get  back  with  such  rapiditj^  that  Fedelta  was  almost 
foundered  !  Suspicion  tightened  its  awful  belt  around 
me  so  that  I  could  scarcely  breathe.     I  walked  a  few 


Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women.     299 

yards  awa}',  and  sat  down  on  a  bench  to  try  and  recover 
my  self-possession. 

Gaston  found  me  thus,  livid,  and  doubtless  alarming  ; 
for  he  cried  out,  "  What  is  the  matter?"  so  hurriedly, 
and  in  a  tone  of  voice  of  such  anxiety,  that  I  rose  and 
took  his  arm.  But  my  knees  gave  way  under  me,  and 
I  was  compelled  to  sit  down  again.  Then  he  took  me 
in  his  arms  and  carried  me  into  the  parlor,  for  we  were 
close  to  the  house,  and  there  the  terrified  servants 
followed  us.  But  Gaston  sent  them  all  away  with  a 
motion  of  his  hand.  When  we  were  alone  I  was  able 
to  rise,  and,  without  saying  a  word,  I  went  to  my 
chamber,  where  I  locked  myself  in  to  weep  at  my  ease. 
Gaston  stood  at  the  door  two  hours  listening  to  my 
sobs,  and  asking  his  poor  creature  questions  with  the 
patience  of  an  angel ;  but  I  did  not  answer  them.  All 
I  said  was  :  — 

*'  I  will  see  you  when  my  eyes  are  less  red  and  my 
voice  does  not  tremble." 

He  darted  out  of  the  house.  <  I  bathed  my  e3'es  in 
cold  water,  and  my  face ;  then  after  a  time  I  opened 
the  door  and  found  him  outside,  although  I  had  not 
heard  his  step  in  returning. 

''What  is  the  matter?"  he  asked  again. 

*'  Nothing,"  I  said  ;  "  I  saw  the  mud  of  Paris  on 
Fedelta's  legs ;  and  I  could  not  understand  wh}^  you 
went  there  without  telling  me ;  but  you  are  free." 


300     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women. 

"  Your  punishment  for  your  doubts  shall  be,"  he 
said,  "  to  wait  until  to-morrow  for  an  explanation.'* 

"  Look  me  in  the  e3'es,"  I  said.  I  plunged  mine 
into  his ;  the  infinite  penetrated  the  infinite.  No,  I 
did  not  see  that  cloud  which  infidelit}^  brings  into  the 
soul,  and  which  must  inevitably  dim  the  clearness  of 
the  pupils. 

I  pretended  to  be  satisfied ;  but  I  was  not.  Men 
know,  as  we  do,  how  to  lie  and  to  deceive. 

Since  then  we  have  not  been  parted  for  a  moment. 
Oh,  dearest,  as  I  look  at  him  I  feel  m3'Self  indissolubly 
bound  to  him.  An  inward  trembling  shakes  me  when 
he  returns  into  the  room  after  leaving  me  for  a  moment. 
M3'  life  is  in  him  and  not  in  m3'self .  I  am  giving  cruel 
denials  to  3'our  cruel  letter.  Never  did  I  feel  this 
dependence  on  the  being  of  another  with  my  sacred 
Spaniard,  to  whom  I  was  what  this  cruel  child  now  is 
to  me.  How  I  hate  that  mare !  How  foolish  I  have 
been  to  keep  horses  at  all !  But  alas !  I  should  have 
to  cut  oflf  Gaston's  feet  or  lock  him  into  the  Chalet. 
Such  stupid  thoughts  as  these  fill  my  mind ;  3^ou  can 
therefore  judge  how  beside  m3"self  I  am.  If  love 
is  not  cage  enough  no  power  can  keep  a  man  who 
wearies  of  his  life. 

"Do  I  weary  3' ou?"  I  said  to  him  plainly. 

"  How  you  torment  yourself  about  nothing,"  he 
answered,  with  his  eyes  full  of  tender  pity ;  "  I  have 
never  loved  3'ou  as  I  do  now." 


Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women.      301 

''  If  that  is  true,"  I  replied,  "  let  me  sell  Fedelta." 

*'  Sell  her,"  he  said. 

The  words  crushed  me  ;  Gaston  seemed  to  sa}^  "_You 
are  the  rich  one  ;  I  have  nothing ;  mj'  will  does  not 
exist."  If  he  did  not  think  that,  I  believed  he  thought 
it ;  and  again  I  left  him  and  went  to  bed,  for  it  was 
late  at  night. 

Oh !  Renee,  in  solitude  a  heart-rending  thought  may 
lead  to  suicide.  These  delicious  gardens,  that  starry 
night,  the  cool  breeze  wafting  me  the  incense  of  our 
flowers,  our  valley,  our  woodland  heights  —  all,  all 
seemed  to  me  gloomy,  black,  a  desert !  I  was,  as  it 
were,  at  the  foot  of  a  precipice,  among  serpents  and 
poisonous  plants ;  I  could  see  no  God  in  Heaven. 
After  such  a  night  a  woman  is  old. 

*'  Take  Fedelta  and  ride  to  Paris,"  I  said  to  him  the 
next  morning,  "We  will  not  sell  her;  I  love  her,  for 
she  carries  you." 

He  was  not  deceived ;  there  was  anger  in  m}^  voice, 
though  I  tried  to  conceal  it. 

"  Have  confidence  in  me,"  he  answered,  holding 
out  his  hand  with  so  noble  an  action  and  giving  me 
at  the  same  time  so  noble  a  look  that  I  felt  m^'self 
abased. 

"  How  petty  I  am  !  "  I  cried. 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  you  love  me,  that  is  all ; "  and  he 
pressed  me  to  him. 


302     Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women. 

"  Go  to  Paris  without  me,"  I  said,  in  order  to  make 
him  feel  I  gave  up  all  suspicion. 

He  went ;  I  thought  he  would  have  stayed !  I  can 
never  tell  3'ou  what  I  suffered.  There  was  in  me 
another  myself  who  I  did  not  kildw  existed.  These 
scenes,  m^^  dearest,  have  a  tragic  solemnit}-  for  a  woman 
who  loves,  which  cannot  be  expressed  in  words.  The 
whole  of  life  seems  to  be  in  that  passing  moment ; 
the  eye*  sees  no  other  horizon ;  a  mere  nothing  is  all, 
a  glance  is  a  book,  words  are  ice,  in  a  motion  of  the 
lips  we  read  our  death.  I  expected  a  return ;  for  my 
own  act  was  noble  and  grand. 

I  ran  to  the  roof  of  the  Chalet  to  follow  him  with 
my  eyes  along  the  road.  Ah !  my  dear  Renee,  I  saw 
him  disappear  with  frightful  rapidity. 

'*  How  he  rides  !  "  I  thought,  involuntarily. 

Once  more  alone,  I  fell  back  into  the  hell  of  suspicion, 
into  the  tumult  of  conjecture.  At  times  the  certaint}^ 
of  betrayal  seemed  to  me  a  balm  compared  to  the 
agony  of  doubt.  Doubt  is  our  duel  with  ourselves, 
and  we  give  ourselves  fearful  wounds.  I  walked 
about,  I  roamed  the  paths,  I  returned  to  the  Chalet ; 
then  I  started  again  like  a  mad- woman. 

Gaston  left  me  at  seven  in  the  morning  and  he  did 
not  return  till  eleven.  Now  as  it  takes  but  half  an 
hour  to  reach  Paris  by  the  park  of  Saint-Cloud  and  the 
Bois  de  Boulogne,  it  is  plain  that  he  must  have  been 
three  hours  in  the  city. 


Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women.     303 

He  came  in  gayly,  bringing  me  a  riding-whip  made  of 
india-rubber  and  mounted  with  a  gold  handle.  For  the 
last  two  weeks  I  had  been  without  a  whip,  mine  being 
old  and  broken. 

"  So  this  is  why  you  have  tortured  me  ? "  I  said, 
admiring  the  workmanship  of  the  handle,  in  which 
there   was   a   vinaigrette. 

I  fully  understood  that  the  gift  concealed  some  new 
deception ;  but  nevertheless  I  threw  myself  on  his 
breast  and  made  him  tender  reproaches  for  letting  me 
torment  myself  for  such  a  trifle.  He  thought  he  had 
done  a  clever  thing.  I  saw  in  his  whole  manner,  in 
his  eye,  the  sort  of  inward  satisfaction  men  feel  when 
the}^  have  succeeded  in  deceiving  others ;  a  gleam 
seems  to  escape  their  soul,  a  flash  from  their  mind  is 
reflected  on  their  features,  and  shaken  from  them  with 
the  movements  of  the  body.  While  admiring  the  prett}- 
thing  I  asked  him  suddenly,  at  a  moment  when  we  were 
looking  at  each  other  face  to  face :  — 

"  Who  designed  this  work  of  art  for  you?  " 

*'  An  artist,  a  friend  of  mine." 

"  Ah  !  —  and  Verdier  mounted  it,"  I  added,  reading 
the  name  of  the  jeweller,  which  was  engraved  on  the 
whip. 

Gaston  is  nothing  but  a  child,  and  he  blushed.  I  re- 
warded him  with  caresses  for  being  ashamed  of  deceiving 
me.  I  played  the  innocent ;  and  he  thought  the  whole 
affair  had  blown  over. 


304     Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women. 

May  25th. 

The  next  morning  by  six  I  was  in  my  riding-habit, 
and  I  reached  Verdier's  at  seven,  where  I  saw  several 
whips  of  the  same  pattern  as  mine.  A  clerk  recognized 
mine  when  I  showed  it  to  him. 

"  We  sold  it  yesterday  to  a  gentleman,"  he  said,  de- 
scribing Gaston  exactl3\ 

I  could  have  no  doubt  that  it  was  he.  I  will  not  tell 
you  how  mj' heart  throbbed  in  going  to  Paris  and  during 
this  little  scene.  When  Gaston  woke  at  eight  o'clock 
he  found  me  fresh  and  dainty  in  my  morning  dress, 
walking  about  among  my  flowers  with  deceitful  indiffer- 
ence ;  I  was  certain  that  nothing  had  betrayed  my 
absence,  for  no  one  knew  of  it  but  my  old  Philippe. 

"  Gaston,"  I  said,  as  we  walked  round  the  pond,  "  I 
know  perfectly  well  the  difference  there  is  between  a 
work  of  art,  unique  in  itself,  which  would  have  taken 
time  to  design  for  a  friend,  and  one  which  has  been  cast 
in  a  mould." 

Gaston  turned  pale  and  gazed  at  me  as  I  drew  forth 
the  accusing  gift. 

"My  friend,"  I  said,  "this  is  not  a  whip;  it  is  a 
screen  behind  which  you  hide  a  secret." 

Thereupon,  my  dear,  I  gave  myself  the  atrocious 
pleasure  of  getting  him  involved  in  a  labyrinth  of  lies 
and  deceptions  from  which  he  could  not  escape,  though 
he  displayed  an  amazing  cleverness  in  trying  to  find  a 


Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women.     305 

wall  to  scale.  He  was  compelled,  however,  to  stand 
bis  ground  before  an  adversary  who  consented  after  a 
time  to  let  him  think  he  had  convinced  her.  But  this 
compliance  came  too  late,  as  it  always  does  in  such 
scenes.  I  had  committed  the  fault  against  which  my 
mother  had  tried  to  warn  me.  By  laying  bare  my 
jealousy  I  had  as  good  as  declared  war  and  its  strata- 
gems against  Gaston.  My  dear,  jealousy  is  essentially 
stupid  and  blundering. 

So  then  I  vowed  to  mj'self  to  suffer  in  silence,  to 
watch  everything,  to  obtain  certainty,  and  if  my  sus- 
picions were  confirmed,  either  to  make  an  end  of 
everything  between  me  and  Gaston,  or  consent  to  my 
misfortune ;  there  is  no  other  course  of  conduct  for 
women  brought  up  as  we  have  been. 

What  is  he  hiding  from  me  ?  for  he  is  hiding  some- 
thing. The  secret  must  concern  some  woman.  Is  it 
some  youthful  affair  for  which  he  blushes?  What  is  it? 
Ah,  Renee,  that  What  is  engraved  in  four  letters  of 
fire  upon  everything.  I  read  that  fatal  word  on  the 
mirror  of  my  pond,  among  my  trees,  in  the  clouds  of 
the  sky,  on  the  ceiUngs,  at  our  meals,  in  the  ver}- 
flowers  of  m}^  carpet.  When  I  sleep  a  voice  cries  to 
me,  ''What?'' 

Since  that  day  there  has  been  in  our  life  a  torturing 
interest ;  I  have  the  bitterest,  the  most  acrid  thoughts 
that  ever  corroded  a  woman's  heart  —  to  belong  to   a 

20 


306     Memoirs' of  Two  Young  Married  Women. 

man  whom  we  believe  to  be  unfaithful !  Oh,  dearest, 
m\'  present  life  is  hell  and  heaven  both.  I  have  never 
before  set  foot  in  this  fiery  furnace  —  I,  until  now  so 
sacredly  adored. 

June. 

Since  the  day  of  which  I  wrote  last,  Gaston,  instead 
of  working  lazily,  with  the  ease  of  a  rich  artist  who 
pets  his  work,  sets  himself  tasks  to  accomplish,  like  a 
writer  who  lives  by  his  pen.  He  employ's  four  hours 
ever}'  day  in  actual  toil  and  has  finished  two  of  his 
plays. 

"  He  wants  mone}* !  " 

That  thought  is  whispered  to  me  by  an  inward  voice. 
He  spends  almost  nothing.  We  live  in  such  absolute 
confidence  that  there  is  not  a  corner  in  his  study  that 
my  eyes  and  my  fingers  have  not  penetrated.  His 
expenditures  have  never  reached  two  thousand  francs 
a  year,  and  I  knew  that  he  had  thirty  thousand  francs, 
not  so  much  laid  by,  as  simply  placed  in  a  drawer  in 
his  room.  You  will  know  what  I  did.  I  rose  in  the 
night  and  went,  while  he  slept,  to  see  if  the  money  were 
still  there.  The  chill  of  death  seized  me  when  I  found 
it  gone ! 

That  same  week  I  discovered  that  he  goes  to  Sevres 
for  his  letters,  and  he  must  destroy  them  as  soon  as 
read,  for  although  I  am  as  inventive  as  Figaro,  I  have 
never  j^et  found  a  trace  of  them.     Alas  !  mj'  Renee,  in 


Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women.     307 

spite  of  all  the  fine  vows  I  made  to  myself  apropos  of 
the  riding-whip,  an  impulse  of  m^'  soul,  which  I  must 
call  madness,  drove  me  into  following  Gaston  one  day 
in  one  of  his  rapid  rides  to  the  post-office.  He  was 
terrified  when  I  found  him  on  horseback  paying  the 
postage  on  a  letter  he  held  in  his  hand.  After  looking 
at  me  fixedly  for  a  moment,  he  put  Fedelta  to  a  gallop 
and  rode  home  so  rapidly  that  I  was  utterly  exhausted 
on  reaching  the  gate,  though  I  hardly  felt  the  bodily 
fatigue,  m}'  soul  was  so  tortured. 

Once  there,  Gaston  said  nothing ;  he  rang  and 
waited,  but  did  not  speak  to  me.  I  was  more  dead 
than  alive.  Either  I  was  right,  or  I  was  wrong,  but 
in  either  case  my  spying  was  unworthy  of  Armande- 
Louise-Marie  de  Chaulieu.  I  had  rolled  in  the  social 
gutter  below  even  a  grisette,  side-by-side  with  cour- 
tesans, actresses,  creatures  without  education.  What 
suflferings ! 

At  last  the  gate  opened ;  he  gave  his  horse  to  a 
groom,  and  I  dismounted  —  but  into  his  arms  ;  he  held 
them  out  to  me.  I  took  up  my  riding-habit  on  my 
left  arm,  and  gave  him  my  right ;  we  walked  on  —  still 
silent.  The  hundred  steps  we  made  may  be  counted 
for  me  as  a  hundred  years  of  purgator3^  At  each  step  a 
thousand  thoughts,  almost  visible,  hovered  in  tongues 
of  flame  before  my  eyes,  and  darted  into  my  soul, 
with  each  a  fang,  a  different  venom  !     When  the  groom 


308     Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women. 

and  the  horses  were  out  of  sight,  I  stopped  Gaston; 
I  looked  at  him,  and  said,  pointing  to  the  letter  which 
he  still  held  unopened  in  his  right  hand :  — 

"Let  me  read  it?" 

He  gave  it  to  me  ;  I  unsealed  it,  and  read  a  letter  in 
which  Raoul  Nathan,  the  dramatic  author,  told  him  that 
one  of  our  plays,  received,  studied,  and  rehearsed, 
would  be  acted  on  the  following  Saturday.  The  letter 
contained  the  tickets  for  a  box. 

Though  to  me  this  was  like  passing  from  martyr- 
dom to  heaven,  the  devil  still  cried  to  me,  to  trouble 
my  joy,  ''Where  are  those  thirty  thousand  francs?" 
But  dignity,  honor,  all  my  old  self  forbade  me  to  ask 
the  question.  It  was  on  m}^  lips ;  but  I  knew  if  the 
thought  became  language  I  must  throw  myself  into  the 
pond ;  and  I  resisted,  with  difficulty,  the  desire  to 
speak.  Oh  !  dearest,  I  suffered  then  something  beyond 
the  strength  of  woman  to  bear. 

"  You  are  wearying  of  this  place,  my  poor  Gaston,'* 
I  said.     ''  If  you  like,  we  will  return  to  Paris." 

"  Return  to  Paris  !  why  ?  "  he  said.  "  I  merely  wanted 
to  know  if  I  reall}'  have  talent,  and  quaff  a  little  of  the 
punch  of  success." 

Some  day  when  he  is  at  work  I  may  perhaps  play 
surprise  when  I  look  into  his  drawer  and  miss  the 
mone}'.  But  even  so,  shall  I  not  tempt  the  answer 
''I  lent  it  to  such  a  one''?     A  man  with  presence  of 


Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married   Women.     309 

mind   like   Gaston  will  surely   say  that  or  something 
like  it. 

My  dear  Renee,  the  outcome  of  this  is  that  the  great 
success  of  the  play  which  all  Paris  is  now  running  after 
belongs  to  us ;  though  Nathan  has  all  the  glory,  for 
our  names  are  not  given ;  I  am  only  one  of  the  stars 
which  appear  in  the  bills  as  "  And  MM.***."  I 
saw  the  first  representation  hidden  in  a  proscenium  box 
on  the  ground-floor. 

July  1. 

Gaston  still  works  hard  and  still  goes  to  Paris. 
He  works  at  his  plays  to  have  an  excuse  to  go  there, 
and  also  to  make  mone}'.  We  have  three  plays 
accepted  and  two  more  ordered.  Oh !  my  dear,  I  am 
lost;  I  walk  in  darkness.  I  would  burn  my  house  if 
that  would  give  me  light.  What  is  the  meaning  of 
Gaston's  conduct?  Is  he  ashamed  of  receiving  money 
from  me  ?  His  soul  is  too  loft}^  to  concern  itself  with 
such  trifles.  Besides,  when  a  man  begins  to  admit 
such  scruples  they  are  inspired  in  him  by  some  condition 
of  his  heart.  He  will  accept  all  things  from  the  wife 
he  loves,  but  he  will  take  nothing  from  the  wife  he 
thinks  of  leaving  or  no  longer  loves.  If  he  wants  so 
much  money  it  must  be  to  spend  it  on  a  woman  ;  if  he 
wanted  it  only  for  himself  he  would  take  it  from  my 
purse  without  hesitation.  He  knows  we  have  a  hundred 
thousand  francs  laid  by. 


310     Memoirs  of  Two    Young  Married   Women. 

Thus,  m}'  own  Renee,  I  have  gone  through  the 
whole  world  of  suppositions,  and  I  have  come  to  the 
conclusion,  all  things  fairly  considered,  that  I  have  a 
rival.  He  leaves  me,  for  whom  ?  I  am  resolved  to  see 
her. 

July  10. 

I  have  seen.  I  am  lost.  Yes ,  Renee,  at  thirty  years 
of  age,  in  all  the  prime  of  my  beauty,  rich  with  the  re- 
sources of  m^^  mind,  fresh,  elegant,  I  am  betrayed  ;  and 
for  whom?  For  an  Englishwoman  with  big  feet,  and 
big  bones,  and  a  huge  bosom,  —  a  British  cow !  I 
cannot  doubt  it.     Here  is  what  happened  lately. 

Weary  with  doubt,  jealous  of  Gaston's  work,  uneasy 
at  his  perpetual  trips  to  Paris,  I  took  some  measures ; 
and  these  measures  made  me  degrade  myself  so  low 
that  I  cannot  tell  you  what  they  were.  Three  days 
ago  I  learned  that  when  Gaston  rides  to  Paris  he  goes 
to  a  house  in  the  rue  de  la  Ville-rilveque,  where  his 
loves  are  guarded  by  a  discretion  that  is  very  unusual  in 
Paris.  The  porter,  evidently  no  talker,  said  little,  but 
enough  to  reduce  me  to  despair.  I  then  resolved  to 
sacrifice  my  life ;  all  I  wanted  was  to  know  all. 

I  took  an  apartment  in  Paris  in  the  house  directly 
opposite  to  that  where  Gaston  goes,  and  I  saw  him 
with  my  own  eyes  ride  into  the  courtyard  on  horseback. 
Too  soon,  too  soon,  I  had  a  horrible,  a  dreadful  reve- 
lation.    This  Englishwoman,  who  seemed  to  me  about 


Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Womeri.     311 

thirty-six  years  of  age,  calls  herself  Madame  Gaston. 
This  discovery  was  like  a  death-blow  to  me.  Next,  I 
saw  her  going  to  the  Tuileries  with  two  children  !  Oh, 
Renee  !  two  boys  who  are  the  living  miniatures  of  Gas- 
ton. It  is  impossible  not  to  be  struck  with  so  scanda- 
lous a  resemblance.  And  such  beautiful  children ! 
dressed  with  that  magnificence  with  which  English- 
women dress  their  boj'S. 

She  has  given  him  children  !  Ah  !  that  explains  all. 
This  Englishwoman  is  a  species  of  Greek  statue  come 
down  from  some  pedestal ;  she  has  the  whiteness  and 
the  coldness  of  marble ;  she  walks  pompously  like  a 
happy  mother ;  she  is  beautiful,  —  }■  es,  I  must  own  that, 
—  but  she  is  heavy  and  clumsy  as  a  line-of-battle  ship. 
There  is  nothing  refined  or  distinguished  about  her. 
Assuredly,  she  is  not  a  lady ;  she  is  the  daughter  of 
some  small  farmer  in  a  remote  county,  or  the  eleventh 
child  of  some  poor  minister. 

I  returned  from  Paris  half-dead.  As  T  rode  back 
thoughts  assailed  me  like  demons.  Can  she  be  married 
to  him?  Did  he  know  her  before  he  married  me? 
Was  she  the  deserted  mistress  of  some  rich  man,  whom 
Gaston  has  suddenly  met  with?  —  but  no,  there  were 
those  children  !  I  made  suppositions  without  number, 
as  if  any  were  needed  in  presence  of  those  children. 
The  next  day  I  returned  to  Paris,  and  found  excuses 
enough  to  give  the  porter  some  money,  and  ask  one 


312     Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Woinen. 

question  :    "Is  Madame  Gaston  legall}'  married  ?  "     To 
which  he  replied  :  — 

''Yes,  mademoiselle." 

July  15. 

]\Iy  dear  Renee,  —  Ever  since  that  fatal  morning  I 
have  redoubled  in  love  for  Gaston,  and  I  find  him  more 
loving  than  ever  ;  he  is  so  young.  Twentj'  times,  when 
I  rise  in  the  morning,  T  have  been  on  the  point  of 
saying  to  him :  "You  love  me  as  well  as  you  do  that 
woman  in  the  rue  de  la  Ville  I'Eveque,  don't  3'ou?" 

I  dare  not  explain  to  myself  the  meaning  of  my  own 
submission. 

"  You  love  children?"  I  said  to  him  one  daj^. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  he  answered,  "  and  we  will  have  them." 

"But  how?" 

"  I  have  consulted  doctors,  and  they  all  advise  me  to 
travel  for  a  few  months." 

"  Gaston,"  I  said,  "  I  could  not  love  an  absent  man  ; 
if  I  could,  I  should  have  stayed  in  the  convent  all 
m}'  days." 

He  began  to  laugh ;  but  as  for  me,  the  very  word 
journey  stabbed  me  to  the  heart.  Oh !  surely,  I  'd 
rather  jump  from  a  window  and  be  killed  at  once  than 
roll  down  the  staircase,  clutching  at  every  step. 

Adieu,  my  darling ;  m^'  death  will  be  gentle,  elegant, 
but  sure.  I  made  my  will  yesterday.  You  may  come 
and  see  me  now ;    the  blockade  is  raised.     Mv  death. 


Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women.     313 

like  my  life,  shall  be  marked  by  distinction  and  grace. 
1  will  die  m}'  whole  self. 

Farewell,  dear  sister-soul,  —  you,  whose  affection  has 
known  no  repelling,  no  ups,  no  downs,  but  like  the 
equable  shining  of  the  moon,  has  ever  soothed  my  heart. 
You  and  I  may  not  have  known  the  ardor  of  love,  but 
neither  have  we  tasted  its  poisonous  bitterness.  You 
have  seen  life  wisel3^ 

Farewell. 


LV. 

MADAME     DE    l'eSTORADE    TO    MADAME    GASTON. 

July  17. 

My  DEAR  Louise,  —  I  send  this  letter  b}'  a  messenger 
before  I  am  able  to  go  to  the  Chalet  myself.  Be  calm. 
Your  last  words  seem  to  me  so  insane  that  I  thought  I 
did  right,  under  the  circumstances,  in  confiding  every- 
thing to  Louis.  It  was  a  matter  of  saving  you  from 
yourself 

If,  like  3^ou,  we  have  employed  bad  means,  the  result 
is  so  good  that  I  am  certain  of  your  approval.  I  even 
went  so  low  as  to  emplo}'  the  police.  But  do  not  be 
anxious ;  this  will  remain  a  secret  between  the  prefect 
and  ourselves  and  3'ou.  Gaston  is  an  angel.  Here  are 
the  facts  :  — 


314     Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married   Women. 

His  brother,  Louis  Gaston,  died  in  Calcutta,  in  the 
service  of  a  mercantile  company,  ruined  financially  at 
the  very  moment  when  he  was  about  to  return  to 
France,  rich,  happy,  and  married.  He  had  obtained  a 
brilliant  fortune  through  his  marriage  with  the  widow 
of  an  English  merchant,  after  working  for  ten  years 
to  support  himself  and  provide  for  his  brother  Marie, 
whom  he  idolized,  and  to  whom  he  never  wrote  of  his 
trials  and  disappointments,  fearing  to  distress  him. 
Just  as  he  was  about  to  return  home  prosperous  and 
happ3^  lie  was  overtaken  b^-  the  failure  of  the  famous 
house  of  Halmer.  His  wife's  property  was  all  in  it, 
and  she  was  ruined.  The  blow  was  so  terrible  that 
Louis  Gaston  went  almost  beside  himself  The  mental 
faculties,  breaking  down,  affected  his  physical  strength, 
and  he  died,  as  I  said,  in  Bengal,  where  he  had  gone  to 
tr}^  to  rescue  some  shreds  of  his  poor  wife's  fortune. 

While  prosperous,  this  dear,  good  captain  had  placed 
in  the  hands  of  a  banker  the  sum  of  three  hundred  thou- 
sand francs  for  transmission  to  his  brother ;  but  this 
banker  was  dragged  down  b}'  the  Halmer  failure  and  that 
last  resource  was  taken  from  them.  The  widow  of  Louis 
Gaston,  the  beautiful  woman  whom  3'ou  think  3'our  rival, 
is  in  Paris  with  two  children  (3'Our  nephews),  and  without 
a  sou.  Her  jewels  sufficed  onl}'  to  pa}'  the  passages  of 
her  family  from  India.  Madame  Louis  went  to  the 
address  of  your  husband's  former  lodscinors.     As  he  had 


Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women.     315 

not  left  word  where  he  was  going,  the  people  of  the 
house  referred  her  to  Daniel  d'Arthez  as  the  person 
most  likely  to  give  her  information. 

D'Arthez  generously-  provided  for  the  immediate 
wants  of  the  young  widow.  It  seems  that  the  captain 
had  written  to  d'Arthez  at  the  time  of  his  marriage, 
knowing  him  to  be  Marie's  best  friend,  asking  him 
how  he  could  best  send  that  large  sum  of  money  safely 
to  his  young  brother.  D'Arthez  replied  that  Marie 
Gaston  had  lateh'  become  rich  through  his  marriage 
with  the  Baronne  de  Macumer. 

On  the  arrival  of  the  widow,  d'Arthez  naturall}*  wrote 
to  your  husband  and  told  him  the  condition  in  which 
his  sister-in-law  and  nephews  were ;  and  he  also  told 
him  of  the  generous  intentions  of  Louis  Gaston  and 
his  wife  toward  him,  which  were  only  frustrated  b}'  ill- 
luck.  Your  dear  Gaston,  as  you  can  well  imagine,  rushed 
to  Paris.  That  is  the  cause  and  history  of  the  first 
morning  ride.  During  the  last  three  years  he  had  laid 
aside  fift}'  thousand  francs  out  of  the  sums  3'ou  had 
forced  him  to  take  ;  and  he  now  invested  them  in  the 
Funds  in  his  nephews'  names,  obtaining  twelve  hundred 
francs  a  year  for  each  of  them.  He  also  took  and  fur- 
nished the  apartment  in  which  3'our  sister-in-law  lives  ; 
and  he  promised  her  three  thousand  francs  every  montli 
for  her  expenses.  This  is  the  cause  and  history  of 
the  disappearance  of  that  mone}-,  of  his  work  for  the 


316     Memoirs  of  Two   Yoiong  Married   Women. 

theatres,  and  of  his  great  pleasure  at  the  success  of  his 
first  piece.  You  see  now  that  Madame  Gaston  is  not 
your  rival,  and  bears  your  name  legitimatel3\ 

A  man  as  noble  and  as  sensitive  as  Gaston  concealed 
this  from  you,  fearing  your  generosity.  Your  husband 
has  never  looked  upon  your  means  as  his  own. 
D'Arthez  read  me  a  letter  which  he  wrote  to  him  at 
the  time  he  asked  him  to  be  one  of  the  witnesses 
of  your  marriage.  In  it,  Marie  Gaston  said  that  his 
happiness  would  be  complete  if  he  had  had  no  debts 
he  was  forced  to  let  you  pay,  and  if  he  could  be  rich 
himself.  A  virgin  soul  cannot  prevent  itself  from 
having  such  feeHngs.  They  exist,  or  they  do  not  exist ; 
when  they  do  exist  their  delicacy  and  their  exactions 
are  conceivable.  It  is  thus  quite  simple  that  Gaston 
wished  to  do  what  was  needful  for  his  brother's  widow 
and  children  himself,  without  calling  upon  you ;  espe- 
cially when  that  widow  had  set  apart  for  him  three 
hundred  thousand  francs  of  her  own  fortune. 

I  have  seen  her  ;  she  is  beautiful,  she  has  a  heart,  her 
manners  are  distinguished,  but  she  is  not  clever.  The 
woman  is  a  mother;  is  not  that  as  good  as  telling  3'ou 
I  took  to  her  the  instant  I  saw  her  with  a  child  at  her 
side,  and  another  in  her  arms  dressed  like  the  bab}'  of 
an  English  lord?  All  for  my  children  is  written  upon 
her  and  upon  everything  about  her. 

So,  mj^  Louise,  instead  of  being  angry   with  your 


Memoirs  of  Tioo  Young  Married  Women.     317 

Gaston,  3'ou  ma}'  now  have  fresh  reasons  to  love  him. 
I  have  seen  him.  He  is  the  most  charming  young  man 
in  all  Paris.  Ah  yes,  dear  child,  1  can  well  compreliend 
that  a  woman  should  adore  him;  he  has  the  countenance 
of  his  soul. 

If  I  were  3'ou,  I  should  take  the  widow  and  her 
children  to  the  Chalet  and  build  them  a  delightful  little 
cottage  near  by ;  you  could  make  the  children  3'our 
own.  Therefore,  dearest,  be  calm  and  happy ;  and 
give  Gaston  in  your  turn  a  surprise. 


LVL 


Ah  !  my  beloved  Renee,  hear  the  terrible,  fatal,  inso- 
lent words  which  that  imbecile  Lafaj'ette  said  to  his 
king  :  It  is  too  late  !  Oh  !  my  life,  my  beautiful  life  ! 
no  physician  can  give  it  back  to  me.  Death  has  struck 
me.  Alas  !  was  I  not  born  an  ignis  fatuus  of  a  woman, 
destined  to  be  extinguished  as  I  shone  ?  Torrents  of 
tears  are  pouring  from  m^'  eyes,  but  —  I  can  only  weep 
apart  from  him ;  I  flee  him,  but  he  seeks  me.  My 
despair  is  all  within  my  soul.  Dante  forgot  my 
torment  in  his  Hell. 

Come  and  see  me  die. 


318     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women. 


LVII. 

the  comtesse  de  l^estorade  to  the  comte  de 
l'e&torade. 

The  Chalet,  August  7. 

My  dear  Husband,  —  Take  the  children  and  go  to 
Provence  without  me  ;  I  stay  here  with  Louise,  who  has 
onty  a  short  time  to  live.  I  owe  mj^self  to  her  and  to 
her  husband,  who  will  go  mad,  I  think. 

Since  receiving  that  last  letter  which  made  me  fly  to 
Ville  d'Avray  with  the  physicians,  I  have  not  left  her 
for  a  moment,  and  I  could  not  write  to  you  sooner,  for 
this  is  the  fifteenth  night  1  have  watched  with  her. 

When  I  arrived  I  found  her  with  Gaston,  beautiful 
as  ever  and  exquisitely  dressed,  her  face  all  smiles  and 
happiness,  —  sublime  deception  !  These  two  beautiful 
children  had  told  each  other  all.  For  a  moment  I, 
like  Gaston,  was  the  dupe  of  her  artifice ;  but  Louise 
presently  wrung  my  hand  and  whispered :  — 

''  I  must  deceive  him,  I  am  dying." 

An  icy  chill  came  over  me  as  I  felt  the  burning  heat 
of  her  hand  and  saw  the  flush  in  her  cheeks.  I  was 
glad  then  of  my  own  prudence,  for,  not  wishing  to 
alarm  any  one,  I  had  asked  the  physicians  who  came 
with  me  to  walk  about  the  shrubber}-  for  a  while  until  I 
sent  for  them. 


Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women.     319 

"  Leave  us  now,"  she  said  to  Gaston.  "  Two  women 
who  meet  after  a  separation  of  five  3'ears  have  many 
secrets  to  tell  each  other ;  I  know  Renee  has  mu6h  to 
say  to  me." 

Once  alone,  she  flung  herself  in  my  arms  unable  to 
restrain  her  tears. 

'*  But  what  is  the  matter?  "  I  said.  "  I  have  brought 
you,  in  any  case,  the  head-surgeon  and  the  chief  physi- 
cian of  the  Hotel-Dieu,  together  with  Bianchon  and 
another  doctor ;  there  are  four  of  them." 

*'Oh!  if  they  could  only  save  me!"  she  cried. 
"There  may  be  time;  let  them  come!  The  same 
feeling  that  drove  me  to  die  will  help  me  to  live." 

*'  But  what  have  you  done  ?  " 

"  I  have  destroyed  my  lungs  " 

"How?" 

*'  I  put  myself  in  perspirations  at  night,  and  then 
went  to  the  shores  of  the  pond  and  stood  in  the  dew 
and  mist.  Gaston  thinks  I  have  a  cold,  but  I  am 
dying." 

"  Send  Gaston  to  Paris  on  some  errand,"  I  said,  "  and 
I  will  bring  the  doctors." 

I  was  almost  out  of  my  mind  when  I  went  to  fetch 
them  from  the  wood  where  I  had  left  them. 

Alas,  my  dear  friend,  when  the  consultation  was 
over  not  one  of  those  learned  men  would  give  me  the 
slightest  hope ;  they  think  she  will  go  at  the  fall  of  the 


320     Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women. 

leaves.  Louise  must  die.  Tiie  constitution  of  the 
dear  creature  has  singularly'  served  her  purpose.  She 
had,  it  seems,  a  tendenc}'  to  the  malady  she  has  de- 
veloped. She  might  have  lived  long,  but  the  work  of 
a  few  da3's  has  made  her  condition  hopeless.  I  cannot 
tell  3'ou  what  I  felt  on  listening  to  this  judgment,  which 
the\-  carefull}'  explained  to  me.  You  know  that  I  have 
lived  in  Louise  almost  as  much  as  in  myself.  I  was 
overcome ;  I  could  not  even  take  leave  of  those  cruel 
men.  Bathed  in  tears,  I  passed  I  know  not  how  much 
time  in  painful  meditation.  A  celestial  voice  roused  me 
from  m}'  torpor. 

"  AVell,  I  am  doomed!"  she  said,  laying  her  hand 
on  mj'  shoulder. 

She  made  me  rise  and  took  me  into  her  little  salon. 

*' You  will  not  leave  me,  will  you?  "  she  said  with  a 
supplicating  look.  "  I  wish  so  much  not  to  see  despair 
about  me ;  above  all,  I  wish  to  deceive  him^  and  I 
shall  have  the  strength  to  do  it.  I  am  full  of  energy 
and  youth,  and  I  will  die  standing.  I  am  not  sorrj^  for 
mj^self;  I  die  as  I  wished  to  die — at  thirtj^  3'oung, 
beautiful,  and  still  myself.  As  for  him,  I  should  have 
made  him  unhapp}' ;  I  see  that.  I  am  caught  in  the 
meshes  of  my  love,  like  a  doe  struggling  in  the  net, 
impatient  at  being  held ;  I  am  the  doe  —  and  a  very 
wild  one.  M^-  groundless  jealousy  has  alread}'  wounded 
his  heart  and  made  it  suffer.     The  day  when  mj"  sus- 


Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women.     321 

picions  found  him  indifferent  —  the  inevitable  return  for 
jealousy  —  well,  I  should  have  died  then.  I  have  had 
my  account  with  life.  There  are  some  who  see  sixty 
3'ears'  service  on  the  muster-roll  of  the  world  who  have 
never  really  lived  two  years  ;  whereas  I,  though  I  am 
onl}'  thirt}',  have  known  sixt^^  3'ears  of  love.  80,  for 
him,  for  me,  this  end  is  happiness.  But  for  you  and 
me,  mj'  Renee,  it  is  another  thing ;  3'ou  lose  a  sister 
who  loves  you,  and  the  loss  is  irreparable.  You, 
alone,  have  cause  to  mourn  m3'  death." 

She  was  silent  for  a  long  time  ;  I  could  not  speak,  I 
could  only  see  her  through  a  veil  of  tears ;  then  she 
said:  "  M3'  death  conve3'S  a  cruel  lesson.  My  dear 
philosopher  in  petticoats  was  right.    Marriage  should  not 


have  passion  for  its  basis  —  nor  even  love.  Your  life, 
my  Renee,  is  a  fine  one ;  you  have  walked  in  the  right 
path,  loving  your  Louis  more  and  more  as  you  advanced, 
whereas  by  resting  conjugal  love  on  excessive  ardor 
it  must  decrease.  I  have  twice  been  wrong  ;  and  twice 
death  strikes  m3'  happiness  with  its  fleshless  hand. 
It  robbed  me  of  the  noblest,  the  most  devoted  of  men  ; 
and  to-da3'  it  tears  me  from  the  most  beautiful,  the 
most  poetic  husband  woman  ever  had.  But  then,  I 
have  known  the  beau  ideal,  the  perfection,  of  the  soul, 
and  that  of  the  outward  form.  In  Fehpe,  the  soul 
mastered  the  bod3'  and  transformed  it ;  in  Gaston,  the 
heart,  tlie   mind,  and  the  beaut3'  are  equal  rivals.     I 

21 


322      Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women. 

die  adored  —  what  more  can  I  wish?  Yes,  to  reconcile 
myself  with  God,  whom,  perhaps,  I  have  too  little 
thought  of — to  him  I  will  spring,  full  of  love,  pra3-ing 
him  to  give  me  back  m\'  two  angels  in  his  heaven. 
Without  them,  paradise  would  be  a  desert  to  me.  My 
example  would  be  fatal ;  I  am  an  exception.  It  is 
impossible  to  meet  with  man^-  Felipes  and  Gastons ; 
social  law  is  here  in  harmony'  with  natural  law.  Yes, 
woman  is  a  feeble  being,  who  ought  in  marriage  to 
make  the  sacrifice  of  her  will  to  that  of  the  man,  who 
ought  in  return  to  make  her  the  sacrifice  of  his  egoism. 
The  rebellion  our  sex  has  latelj'  raised  and  the  com- 
plaints it  utters  with  so  much  noise  are  sill}'  blunders, 
and  make  us  deserve  the  name  of  children  which  philos- 
ophers have  given  us." 

And  so  she  continued,  in  that  sweet  voice  you  know  ; 
making  wise  reflections  in  her  own  peculiar  waj',  until 
Gaston  returned,  bringing  with  him  his  sister-in-law, 
her  children,  and  their  English  nurse,  whom  Louise 
had   asked   him    to   go    and   fetch. 

''See  my  pretty  executioners]"  she  whispered  to 
me  as  the  children  came  in.  "  Was  I  mistaken  ?  Are 
they  not  the  image  of  their  uncle  ?  " 

She  was  charming  to  Madame  Louis  Gaston,  begging 
her  to  regard  the  Chalet  as  her  own  home,  and  doing 
its  honors  with  those  Chaulieu  manners  she  possesses 
in  the  highest  degree. 


Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married    Women.     323 

I  wrote  at  once  to  the  Diichesse  de  Chaulieu,  the  Due 
de  Rhetore,  and  the  Due  de  Lenoncourt,  also  to  Made- 
leine. I  did  well ;  for  the  next  da}'  Louise  was  unable 
to  take  a  walk,  in  fact  she  did  not  rise  till  just  in  time 
to  join  us  at  dinner.  Madeleine  de  Lenoncourt,  the 
two  brothers,  and  her  mother  arrived  that  evening. 
The  coolness  on  the  part  of  the  family  which  Louise 
produced  b}-  her  marriage  has  all  passed  away. 

Since  then  the  two  brothers  and  the  Due  de  Chaulieu 
come  out  on  horseback  every  morning,  and  the  two 
duchesses  spend  all  their  evenings  at  the  Chalet. 
Death  unites  as  much  as  it  separates  ;  and  it  silences 
all  pett}'  passions.  Louise  is  resplendent  in  grace  and 
sense,  and  charm  of  soul  and  sensibilitj'.  To  the  last 
she  shows  that  exquisite  taste  for  which  she  is  famed, 
and  pours  out  for  us  the  treasures  of  a  mind  which 
made  her  one  of  the  queens  of  Paris. 

"  I  want  to  be  lovely  even  in  my  coffin,"  she  said 
to  me  with  that  smile  which  is  hers  alone,  as  I  put  her 
to  bed,  where  she  has  now  languished  for  the  last  two 
weeks.  There  is  not  a  trace  of  illness  in  her  rooms ; 
the  medicines,  drinks,  etc.,  tlie  whole  medical  apparatus 
is  out  of  sight. 

"  I  am  making  a  good  death,  am  I  not?"  she  said 
to  the  rector  of  Sevres,  to  whom  she  has  given  her 
confidence. 

"We  cling  to  her  and  enjoy  her  like  raisers.     Gaston, 


324     Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married   Wome7i. 

who  is  now  enlightened  b}-  our  anxietj-  and  prepared  for 
the  worst,  is  not  wanting  in  courage,  but  he  is  vitally 
affected ;  and  I  should  not  be  surprised  if  he  followed 
his  wife  to  the  grave.  Yesterday  he  said  to  me 
as  we  walked  round  the  sheet  of  water  before  the 
house : — 

''  I  ought  to  be  the  father  of  those  children,"  pointing 
to  his  sister-in-law,  who  was  at  a  little  distance  with  his 
nephews.  "I  will  never  do  anything  to  take  me  out 
of  the  world,  but  should  it  happen  that  I  die,  promise 
me  that  you  will  be  a  second  mother  to  them,  and  that 
you  will  let  your  husband  accept  the  guardianship  which 
I  intend  to  confide  to  him  conjointly  with  my  sister- 
in-law.*' 

He  said  that  without  the  least  emotion  and  in  the 
tone  of  a  man  who  feels  himself  lost.  His  face  replies 
with  smiles  to  the  smiles  of  his  wife ;  I  alone  am  not 
deceived  by  them.  He  displays  a  courage  equal  to 
hers.  Louise  wished  to  see  her  godson  ;  but  I  was  not 
sony  to  tell  her  he  was  in  Provence ;  she  might  have 
made  him  some  liberal  gift  which  would  have  pained  me. 

Adieu,  m3^  dear  friend. 

August  25  (her  fete-day). 

Last  evening  Louise  was,  for  a  short  time  only, 
delirious  ;  but  it  was  a  graceful  delirium,  which  proves 
that  persons  of  mind  do  not  become  mad  or  foolish  like 
common    natures.     She   sans:   in  a  faint  voice  a   few 


Memoirs  of  Two   Young  Married  Women.     325 

Italian  airs  from  the  ''  Puritani"  and  ' '  Somnambula " 
and  "  Moise."  We  stood  silently  around  her  bed  ;  even 
the  Due  de  Rhetore  had  tears  in  his  e^es,  for  it  was 
evident  that  her  soul  was  departing  thus.  She  no  longer 
saw  us !  but  still  there  was  all  her  natural  grace  and 
charm  in  that  feeble  song  and  in  her  divine  gentleness. 

Her  last  agon}'  began  during  the  night.  At  seven  in 
the  morning  I  lifted  her  from  her  bed  ffi3'self ;  she  had 
recovered  some  strength,  and  wished  to  be  seated  at 
her  window.  She  asked  for  Gaston's  hand.  And  then 
the  loveliest  angel  we  shall  eyer  see  upon  this  earth  had 
left  us  nothing  but  her  mortal  remains. 

The  last  sacraments  had  been  administered  to  her 

the  evening  before,  unknown  to  Gaston,  who  had  gone 

to   snatch   a  little  sleep  at  tliat  moment.     She  asked 

me  to  read  to  her  in  French  the  De  profundis,  while 

she  sat  there  face  to  face  with  the  beautiful   nature 

she  had  created.     She   repeated   mentally  the  words, 

clasping  the  hand  of  her  husband  who  was  kneehng 

beside  her. 

August  26. 

My  heart  is  broken.     I  have  just  seen  her  in  her 

shroud  ;  she  is  pale,  with  violet  tints.    Oh  !  my  children, 

I  want  my  children  !     Bring  my  children  to  me  ! 


THE   END. 


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